


The Dancer

by SirenNightshade



Series: Turtles' Doves [1]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Bay Movies)
Genre: Continuation, F/M, Fanfiction, Imported, Interspecies, Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-09-28 21:09:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 61
Words: 260,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17190455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirenNightshade/pseuds/SirenNightshade
Summary: A stupid decision, a sudden rescue -- romances have begun with less, but few romances can compare to this. Raphael never expected to find love, let alone with Jocelyn, the fiery rooftop-dwelling ballerina, but their meeting started a fire in both souls which cannot be denied. As a lustful pas de deux begins, their journey will lead them through pain and fear...directly into one another's hearts.





	1. First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Siren Nightshade, here! For those of you who may recognize this, don't panic! This is just me expanding my fic to other sites, since Tumblr's ban has put my works on shaky ground. Enjoy!

**Universe:** Teenage Mutant Teenage Turtles (Paramount movieverse)

 **Rating:** PG (NSFW eventually; light swearing for now)

* * *

* * *

* * *

“I’m just sayin’, _maybe_ you ain’t gotta be the first to jump in _every_ time.” Raphael gestured wide, shrugging, implying more innocence than he felt.

Today’s argument – or, rather, the hour’s – was about Leonardo’s habit of being the first to leap every time they went anywhere. An exaggeration, sure, but that wasn’t the point.

The point was to ruffle feathers, to tease a bit during their downtime.

All four brothers sat upon the lip of a building, watching the streets down below in the anonymity of night. Two pizza boxes (one already empty) sat between Mikey and Donny, a well-earned reward; they’d stopped two burglaries and a mugging tonight.

Small numbers? Maybe, but with their existence slowly coming to light, fewer criminals went bump in the night. They still had to deal with the occasional supervillain – _snort_ – but none had crept from their holes in several weeks.

The argument continued into the night, more teasing than biting, for quite a while – until Raphael heard distant music and paused to listen. A strong, baritone piano score kept drifting on the wind, drawing his gaze around to seek out the source.

This was, of course, _New York_ – it was entirely likely that the music was coming from a window somewhere. Still, he was just impulsive enough to get up and follow the notes to their origin.

“Hey Raph, what’s up?” Donny asked.

He waved an arm at his brothers. “Nothin’. Just feel like stretchin’ my legs.”

A snort was his response, though he couldn’t guess at who had done it. Didn’t matter, really. Still, he gave the three of them an annoyed glare before he kept on going.

Soon enough, he found the source: a few buildings away was…a dancer. A ballerina, from the look of it. On the roof of a 20-story building, with a stereo plugged into an outlet, spun a tanned woman with wild, curly blonde hair. Dressed in a black leotard, white tights and a black sweater, she danced to a melancholy tune.

[ _Dancing slowly in an empty room_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HO4e4nCYBEo)  
[ _Can the lonely take the place of you?_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HO4e4nCYBEo)  
[ _I sing myself a quiet lullaby_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HO4e4nCYBEo)  
[ _Let you go and let the lonely in_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HO4e4nCYBEo)  
[ _To take my heart again_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HO4e4nCYBEo)

He was careful to remain hidden as he watched, oddly fascinated. He’d never really watched ballet before – in the world of media, snippets were everywhere, but what he’d seen and what he’d looked for were entirely different things. For the first time he actually paid attention, soaking up details.

She had impressive reach and flexibility, he saw. She could kick straight up in the air; lean back almost to the point of her hands reaching the floor – her long, curly hair did; twist and spin in place several times without stopping just by kicking out a leg for momentum.

This was…kind of fun, he realized. The way the dancer pivoted, dipped and twirled showed him a measure of grace he’d never thought of before. As a ninja, he could appreciate a well-trained, disciplined body, and _damn_ if she didn’t fit those things.

Her movements seemed to match the music in mood, sorrowful and powerful at the same time. As the song sang about loneliness, her motions mimicked it; it was enough to tug at a young ninja’s heart. What was she thinking about, he wondered? What was the point of this? Was she practicing for a show, or just dancing for herself? If so…why the sad music?

“Wow, a ballerina.”

The whispered comment nearly made Raphael spin around swinging, but it was just Donny having caught up with him. Leo and Mikey were on his tail, and when they came close enough to take a peek between the bricks, they murmured agreements.

“Nice find, Raph,” Mikey winked.

Raphael punched his arm. He wasn’t quite sure why, but he just felt…weirdly protective of the unnamed woman. Something about knowing Mikey already liked her left Raph feeling annoyed.

“She’s pretty good,” Leo observed. _Damn right,_ Raph thought. “Must be practicing.”

“Or composing,” Donny added.

“Yeah, well, we should leave ‘er to it,” Raph told them, backing off to lead the retreat. Something about this felt entirely too invasive, like while it was fine for Raph to watch her alone, with all four of them here – and commenting! – it was crossing the boundaries of etiquette.

“Aww, but the song isn’t even over yet,” Mikey complained.

Leo nudged him. “We’re ninja, not peeping toms,” he scolded.

Mikey pouted at him. “It’s not peeping if it’s out in the open.”

“How about we _not_ refer to her as ‘it’?” Raph snapped at him – a little louder than intended.

Despite his protests, Mikey still left as the others did. The song faded into the background noise of the city as the four headed home.

But long after settling in for the day, Raphael was still thinking about that dancer. And…and he thought he remembered seeing tears on her face as she danced. It was just intriguing enough to bring an impulsive teenager back for a second viewing.

* * *

[ _Nothing can breathe in the space_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xs8aAaO7OFU)  
[ _Colder than the darkest sea_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xs8aAaO7OFU)  
[ _I have dreamed about the days_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xs8aAaO7OFU)  
[ _Driving through your sunset breeze_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xs8aAaO7OFU)

It seemed that ‘melancholy’ was the dancer’s preferred emotion for her dancing. Every song thus far had been slow, with a strong beat and sad lyrics. Heartbreak and loneliness were the themes she kept coming back to.

And it worked for her. Obviously she chose these songs specifically for her practicing, because she danced with such _emotion_ … It made him wonder what kind of dancing he’d see if she chose a different theme, something happy or battle-worthy.

This was Raphael’s sixth time here, watching the ballerina on the roof. She was here every day of the week, it seemed, from 10pm to 3am – the darkest hours of the night. Granted, _he_ wasn’t here every night, but the fact that she’d been here almost every time he’d come by suggested this was a nightly routine of hers.

The only lights up here were the ones she’d placed, a line of Christmas lights blinking around the roof’s edge. It lit her up in different ways every second, and it honestly looked almost magical. And aside from a mattress on the ground she sometimes sat upon, there was nothing else up here. She usually had a water bottle as well, and he’d noticed she sometimes just sat down, seeming to contemplate the bottle, for long stretches of time.

There was a near-constant knit to her brow that told Raph something in her life wasn’t satisfactory. It just made him even more curious, wondering what kept putting that look on her face while she rested.

Although Leo had followed him here during his third visit, they’d just had a quiet conversation. Despite being obviously concerned, Leo had accepted that Raph just wanted to watch her practice, nothing more. They had a few more talks about it back home, but no ground had been gained on either of their parts.

To his credit, he hadn’t yet lost his temper regarding the situation – his sole redeeming point, according to Leonardo.

What did _he_ know, anyway? Raphael just found her fascinating, that was all. If it came down to it, he could leave and never come back. It wouldn’t be hard. He trusted he could drop this habit cold turkey if he had to, that the moment these visits started becoming a problem, he would end it.

For now, though…for now, he only wanted to see more of her dances.

Nothing bad about that. Right?

* * *

Ninth visit in thirty-seven days – not that he was counting or anything. The dancer had brought more things up to the roof now: a punching bag, a table, a chair, a cooler. Her normal supplies, too, had doubled; she usually kept two pairs of ballet slippers, bandages, ribbons, lotion, and water bottles up here. She had notably more of them now.

He expected something big was going to happen – and he was right. After working out with the punching bag for a while (she had _terrible_ form, obviously never having received a single day of training), she sat down and put on her shoes…and then pulled a pair of large knives from the cooler. She wrapped those around her slippers, securing them tightly.

Then, with difficulty on her part and a mounting sense of horror from Raphael, she pulled herself up. She was shaky on the knives’ edges, even calling out in fear every time she began to tip, but she was clearly determined to do this. A part of him was impressed, but that part was overshadowed by fear – for her safety. This could so easily turn into something bloody. He couldn’t help readying himself to jump in, should she hurt herself.

At this point, only his years of ninja training kept him where he was. He wanted to go over there, grab her, rip those shoes off her feet, and chastise her for the risk they represented. But he couldn’t do any of that without revealing himself and, by extension, putting his family one more toe-length into danger.

He stayed put.

The dancer turned on the stereo, struggled for balance, then held a resting pose.

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say Raph was in shock. What kind of dancer strapped _knives_ to her shoes? What was the point of this? Judging from her expression, it was already incredibly painful. He’d seen her feet after removing the shoes before, and the bloody and bruised flesh was hard to recall.

Once he witnessed her _pulling off a toenail_.

This would only be worse.

As horrifying as this was, he couldn’t help also feeling impressed with her. Her dedication to her craft was admirable. Granted, he and his brothers had done similar things – but they weren’t _human_. They had mutated, highly powerful genes. Their senses were sharp, their reflexes impeccable, their bodies resilient.

She was just a human, and a frail-looking one, at that. What muscle she had was so slim and flat, it may as well not exist. Aside from her visibly powerful thighs, she looked like she might break at any moment.

Even so, when the music began, she started to pivot and spin. Whenever she started to tip, she yelped (he jolted every damn time, almost launching from his spot), but still she _didn’t fall_. He found himself half-smiling, caught between stun and empathic joy.

The song was sad, like all the others, but she looked _happy_. As usual, tears continued to drip down her cheeks, yet she was smiling as she danced.

[ _I look inside myself and see my heart is black_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RYPWxymohWs)  
[ _I see my red door and must have it painted black_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RYPWxymohWs)  
[ _Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RYPWxymohWs)  
[ _It’s not easy facing up when your whole world is black_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RYPWxymohWs)

He got so caught up watching her motions, the sparks off the bricks when the metal blades chipped it, that he didn’t notice how close she was coming to an edge of the roof. With how precarious she was on those knives, he knew in an instant she was going to fall.

It was 20 stories to the pavement. There was no way she’d survive.

All thoughts of ninja codes and anonymity fled his mind, seized as he was by a sudden panic. He darted around the building just in time for her to give a shriek, stumbling and wheeling her arms. Her attempts at regaining her balance failed as she tipped further and further, and when she tried to catch herself as she pitched over the side, she scraped her palm, blood welling.

Raph had to dive to catch her, snagging her by the ankle, careful of the knife on her slipper. He caught himself on a window a few stories down, relief surging through him. He’d caught her.

After a second of disoriented flailing on her part, she glanced up, saw him, and went very still. Trying to be as nonchalant as he could, he hooked one of his climbing picks to the brickwork, anchoring him into place so he could use both hands to haul her up. For a second she was too stunned to react, but then she reached up to him; he took her hand to pull her into his arms.

As she was pulled upright, his arm banding around her waist, his heart was racing from nerves. For a moment, as she settled against him, he felt locked in place. She was warm, her weight slight against him, her face so close to his he could feel her breath on him. There was a tiny quiver in her, and he could feel it the most clearly in her hands on his chest, just above his plastron. He swallowed.

God, she was pretty, he thought. This close, he could see that her eyes were green and her face was freckled. Her cheeks were rounder than he’d noticed, her lips thick and pouty with no indents in the middle. And her brows were a light blonde, too, telling him that his assumption that she dyed her hair was false. That was _natural_ blonde. It left him intrigued, wondering what her heritage was. Her brown skin was darker than her freaking _hair_.

All this passed by in a heartbeat, and then – trying not to seem creepy – he said, “Hold on.”

Though still obviously stunned, she gave a nod and slipped her arms around his neck. That quiver in her seemed to grow stronger; he told himself it was from the fall and not _him_. And it was hard to ignore the thrill he felt having the object of his infatuation in his grasp like this, but luckily he was a highly disciplined individual.

Usually.

He put feelings aside for the moment to climb back up to the roof. Almost immediately he felt her fingers drift over the edge of his shell, obviously surprised and fascinated. A tiny shiver went through him at the touch. He couldn’t quite decide if he liked it or not, but after a second the sensations ceased. A little part of him lamented that. And, he noticed, the dancer lifted her legs to keep the knives away from him as he climbed. She was stunned, sure, but clearly still had enough consideration to avoid cutting him.

He appreciated that.

Once up on the roof, he walked over to her chair to put her down. Then it got…awkward. He wasn’t sure what to say, and he was in plain sight with no means of vanishing into the shadows. Half of him wanted to stay here, but the other half reminded him that he’d already done too much. She could blab, and every word he said would end up being used against his family.

He should tell her to keep quiet. He should use his visage to terrify her into obeying – he had done so before. He should make absolutely sure that none of this could come back on his family, should ensure their safety.

But he found he couldn’t scare her…especially not right after she’d come so close to death.

So, instead, he turned away, starting to walk back to the edge.

“Wait…don’t just leave,” he heard her say.

That brought him up short. He pivoted to look back at her, surprised she’d spoken to him…and a little thrilled.

After a moment, she lifted a hand, saying, “Come back here?”

Should he? He swallowed as he debated that – he didn’t have the best track record with making new friends, after all. But something about the image she made, a hand outstretched towards him, sitting on that chair with the music still playing in the background…it was persuasive. Did he really _want_ to go?

No, of course not – he’d spent the last month slowly growing fascinated with her, debating with himself on whether or not he should reveal himself and talk to her. Now he had the chance, and she seemed to _want_ him to stay. That left no debates, no pros and cons, in his mind. He’d wanted this so much…

He came back.


	2. First Sight

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing)

* * *

* * *

* * *

“You’re real. The rumors were true.”

Well, _yeah_ , that was kind of obvious at this point, but Raphael didn’t want to insult her. His – _the_ dancer sat in her chair, staring at him owl-eyed, while he was crouched on the ground in front of her.

His heart was pounding; he was _nervous_. A ninja – nervous! But this was _the dancer_ , the ballerina he’d been watching for weeks now. It was a tense moment. This was the first time they’d spoken, yet he felt almost like he knew her just from the way she’d danced. 

And this was _her_ first time seeing _him_. She’d gone from the shock and terror of falling off the roof to the shock – and terror? – of meeting a real-life mutant. As much as he hated being gawked at and called a freak or a monster, he had to admit that the average human would have a hard time coming to grips with how he – they – looked.

She could – and likely would – remain in stun for some time, yet. He was used to that, in a way. A lot of people freaked out when he and his brothers revealed themselves, some going so far as to faint. The dancer, at least, hadn’t gone that far, but that might be because she was still recovering from her fall. He wanted to believe she was just a chill person, but they’d known each other for all of two minutes. He couldn’t assume.

She reached out, hesitant, and he found himself watching her hand warily. But she just brushed her fingers against the stiff plating of his chest, then drew her hand back with a nervous giggle.

As much as he didn’t want to turn this into an altercation, he found himself biting out the words, “Somethin’ funny about this?”

Her eyes darted up, snagged his. She still looked almost drunk – probably still had a lot of adrenaline in her system from that fall. She wet her lips, then answered, “It’s not a dream.”

“That’s funny?” he demanded, sounding harsher than he intended.

She shook her head. “No. It’s just…it feels like a dream. Not that I think I could’ve dreamed this up,” she added to herself. Leaning back in her chair, she murmured, “This is incredible. And…you saved my life,” she said, realizing it then. “Thank you…”

The way she trailed off suggested a question, so he answered, “Raphael.”

She smiled, and it made him swallow. “Raphael. Very exotic. I’m Jocelyn. Most people call me Jo.”

He shrugged one massive shoulder, replying, “Jocelyn’s better. Exotic,” he added, teasingly.

She chuckled. “Thanks. So, Raphael…” She paused, tilting her head at him, then asked, “Are you my admirer?”

At that, he struggled not to choke or give away how much her question startled him. She’d _noticed_ him? He was a damn ninja, he’d hid his presence entirely! Trying for evasion, he turned her question around, asking, “You have an admirer?”

Jo’s eyes narrowed on him, suspicious. “Yeah. The past few weeks, actually. Someone keeps showing up and watching my routine.” That seemed to remind her about her slippers, because then she leaned down to untie them.

He actually had the urge to help her. Instead, he cleared his throat. “How rude of ‘em. Want me to see if I can find him?”

Judging from the look she gave him, they both knew that he was ‘the admirer’ – just as she’d been ‘the dancer’. Neither of them were calling it out, though. She answered, “That would be nice. Feel free to keep coming back until you scare him off, okay?”

He had to clench his throat on a cheer, choosing instead to say, “Sure.”

* * *

[ _Your faith was strong but you needed proof_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PBo-n_17XU0)  
[ _You saw her bathing on the roof_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PBo-n_17XU0)  
[ _Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PBo-n_17XU0)

It was kind of weird, how things progressed from there. He came to see Jocelyn more frequently, though she still spent almost the entire time practicing. Yet, when she took breaks, they talked. A lot. 

A few times she even touched him, though she told him she felt it was rude to do so without invitation. It warmed him, actually – she was being far more considerate than he expected of a human. Plus, well, the little touches to his shoulder or arm gave him little pleased thrills. He hid it well, he thought, opting to never react.

But he couldn’t help feeling happy about it.

Today, as she paused from her dance to drink some water, he asked, “What’s up with all the sad songs? Why d’you pick ‘em?”

“It puts me in the right mindset,” she told him.

“Yeah, but…you always cry,” he pointed out. “If the songs make you cry –”

“It’s not the songs making me cry,” she interrupted. “The music sets the mood. When I dance, I’m envisioning the story behind it. _That’s_ what makes me cry.”

Honestly, that made him a little frustrated. Why couldn’t she just admit that, convoluted means aside, the songs made her cry? “What are you practicin’ for, anyway?” he asked.

She waved a hand dismissively. “Homebrew.” When he gave her a pointed look, she explained, “One of the girls in my group wrote a script. We decided to give it a shot. My character, Denise, is very tragic. She can’t succeed at love, her career, with her friends or family – it’s one failure after another. So her dances need to be equally tragic.”

“Are you composin’ all of it yourself?”

“Choreographing, and yes, I am,” she nodded. “The play is set for August.”

Four months from now. When he pointed that out, she hiked up her brows. “Four months is a _very_ short time for an all-new play, Raphael. Especially with the script getting revised all the time. My character might not even make it to the final cut.”

“That’d be a shame,” he commented. “With how hard you’ve worked at it…”

She shrugged. “Them’s the breaks. Whatever. I’ll never forget the practicing, nor the company,” she added with a wink at him (he was _not_ blushing), “but sometimes that’s just how things go with ballet.”

Then she paused, giving him a measuring look. He straightened his back, feeling a bit nervous.

“You said you have brothers, right?” she suddenly asked.

He wanted to scream _no_.

“I’d like to meet them.”

 _No, no, no!_ He bit back the yells from reaching his throat, swallowed, then said, “I’ll pass on the invitation.” But he found himself looking away when he said it, as if he were…lying.

As if just to make him feel worse, she replied, “Thank you, Raphael.”

Damn it, why did the very idea make him feel so mad? All she asked was what anyone would have – especially considering the few times he’d mentioned his brothers, he’d spoken well of them. Leo, the leader, responsible and sure-footed, never betraying an ounce of fear. Donny, the genius, the one who designed, tested and perfected all their gadgets. Mikey, the energetic goofball, quick to take on new tasks without even moderately considering its difficulty.

Of course she’d want to meet them, too.

He just…still felt so possessive of her. He didn’t want his brothers catching her eye, or talking about her, or…flirting, he thought, thinking of Mikey. The littlest brother was incorrigible. He’d flirt with a stick if you taped googly eyes to it. Hell, Raph had caught him staring at billboards of women before, utterly distracted by them. Women were his weakness, and Jocelyn…Jocelyn was gorgeous.

Mikey would be all over her.

“No problem,” Raph said, though he felt like absolute shit right then. But he was fully planning on actually inviting his brothers, so why did he feel so guilty about it? As if he’d already decided he wouldn’t….

* * *

_Jealousy_ was a new thing for Raph – at least in this context, anyway. It’d been hard, mustering up the will to invite his brothers down here. But that paled in comparison to how hard it was now, watching Jocelyn as she grinned and gazed at his brothers instead of him, conversing with them. She was _delighted_.

To their credit, his bros were behaving themselves better than Raphael had expected. Leo (thankfully) didn’t mention anything about the conversations they’d had about his spy visits up here, Mikey was keeping his hands to himself, and Donny was just chilling.

After introductions went around, she did a graceful curtsy. “I’m Jocelyn. You guys can call me ‘Jo’. Most people do,” she added with a shrug.

Other than offering to shake hands (Mikey _eagerly_ accepted), Jocelyn hadn’t initiated any touching, either. She was just curious about them, _all_ of them, and she was asking questions she hadn’t asked _him_ yet. Mikey and Donny answered easy enough, though Leo was still quietly assessing things. It was clear the eldest was considering how this might come back on them, negatively or positively.

“This is so weird,” she said now, looking between the four of them. “I expected to have a hard time telling you apart, but you’re all so different.” Shaking her head, as if in wonder, she went on, “I’ll never mistake you for each other.”

 _Good_. Not that Raphael had worried about that or anything. It was just a good thing. In general.

“Hah, how could you ever mistake _me_ for any of _them_ ,” Mikey replied, giving none-too-subtle stretches and flexes. “I’m obviously the prettiest one here.”

As Jocelyn chuckled at that, Donny rolled his eyes and Leo sighed.

“Hate to break it to you, hard-head,” Raph told him, “but you’re _far_ from the ‘prettiest’. More like ‘pansiest’.”

“Um, rude,” Mikey retorted.

Shrugging innocently, Raph replied, “Still true.”

Pointing at him, Mikey said to Jocelyn, “See what I have to deal with?”

“What, a handful of teases?” she replied, raising a brow. “Oh, I weep with sorrow.”

Considering Raphael had seen how easily she could _weep with sorrow_ , he was one of two present who knew how much of a burn that was. He snorted.

“Honestly, if this stresses you out,” she went on, “do _not_ attempt ballet. You wouldn’t last thirty seconds in one of my classes.”

“I _have_ heard that ballet can be excruciating,” Donny added, thoughtful.

“That’s a very fitting term,” she nodded.

“So, what,” Mikey began, “the dancers all tease each other?”

“Depends largely on the group,” she told him, “but usually, yes. There’s a lot of competition, at least in my class. A lot of teasing and harsh words. Some of it is meant to be inspirational, some of it to be demeaning. Either way, you have to build up your skin and take everything as fuel for your fire…or leave.”

Her eyes grew distant as she said this, but only for a moment. Whatever memory she’d been reliving, she put it aside in a snap.

Discipline, again – Raphael was incredibly impressed with her. She was pretty bad ass. You know, for a human.

Much later that night – near dawn, to be exact – another argument was brewing. Leo wasn’t happy with how much Raphael had been shirking his duties lately, avoiding patrols and ignoring training.

He didn’t see it as such a big deal – he’d only skipped two or three such things. But for a ninja, a leader, it was an unforgivable crime. Raph understood that.

He was still pissed as hell.

“Raph, you’re _obsessed_ ,” Leo told him.

“Obsessed?” Raphael repeated, honestly offended. He rounded on Leo, staring him down. “You’re acting like me having my own friend is some great big conspiracy! I skipped _one_ patrol and you make it sound like I betrayed the team!”

“You _did_ betray the team!” Leo snapped. “You didn’t say anything to us, you just went off on your own! You like this girl, like having a friend? _Fine_ , but don’t put her before _us!_ We’re your brothers, we’re the unseen protectors of the city. If you keep running off –”

“Why’re you so threatened by this?” Raphael cut him off. He was getting tired of the _unseen protectors of the city_ line. Leo used it way too often, as if any of them needed to hear it anymore. “Tell you what – you want me to let you know when I wanna go off and see Jocelyn? Done! Happy now?”

“Not even a little,” Leo bit out. He was visibly disgruntled, less than pleased with Jocelyn – or Raph’s growing relationship with her.

Donny and Mikey, silently watching until now, glanced at each other. Then, tentative, Mikey stepped up, raising a hand for attention. “Hey, you know, Leo, I don’t have a problem with this…”

Leo turned a glare on the youngest brother, though whether he wanted clarification or silence was hard to determine.

“I have to agree,” Donny added. “As long as Raph’s there when we need him, does it really matter if he sees Jo one or two times a week?”

As much as Raphael appreciated the two of them backing him, he still found himself irritated that they called her _Jo_. It felt…too informal. Maybe he wasn’t obsessed, but he was definitely overprotective. He should probably work on that.

Outnumbered, Leo gave a heavy sigh. “Alright – fine. Just keep your training on schedule and don’t abandon patrols without telling us. And if we call you, come right back. Deal?”

In truth, Raphael _ached_ to argue further – this was _his_ life, _he_ had final say in everything he did. If he wanted to leave the sewers and freakin’ move in with Jocelyn, brothers or not, they couldn’t do a damn thing to stop him. Granted, _she’d_ have to agree to that, but the point remained.

It was almost summertime. They were almost a confirmed eighteen years old. If they were legal citizens, it’d be completely within his rights to move out – if that was what he wanted.

…But they _were_ his family, and as much as he valued independence and freedom, he loved them with all his heart. He didn’t _want_ to leave. If anything, _he’d_ be the one demanding _they_ stay if any of them wanted to go. And, he admitted, he never had more fun than when he was with them.

He’d given up the possibility of being human for them. Remembering that, the answer became clear.

“Deal.”


	3. Beginning of the End

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing)

* * *

* * *

* * *

[ _Home is everywhere your heart is_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1_PNZBUHBx8)  
[ _I can be that home if you please_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1_PNZBUHBx8)  
[ _Walk with me and we’ll be gone_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1_PNZBUHBx8)  
[ _Dear_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1_PNZBUHBx8)

One of the interesting things about being here with Jocelyn while she practiced? Getting to hear all kinds of songs Raphael had never known existed.

Granted, he had little leeway for discovering new music regardless, and even less so inclination. And while he didn’t particularly like some of the music she chose for her routines, he still liked that it gave him something else to do – namely searching the lyrics to find the whole songs later. He actually liked a few of them. With how varied her songs were, that was a surprise.

She had some…interesting choices sometimes. This was one of them, a song that was equally melancholy and fast-paced at intervals.

Her dancing, as usual, reflected this, drifting between slow but graceful and fast and powerful. And, as usual, he knew the moment she truly got into it, because that’s when the tears started.

It was strange, but Raphael _liked_ how she cried like this. Normally the very idea of crying left him unsettled at best – April had teared up around them once and he’d all but panicked about it – but the way Jocelyn did it was just…beautiful. And he was _just_ self-aware enough to realize he was freaking besotted with her, and _that_ was why he found her tears pretty.

Once the song ended, she took her seat again, wiping at her eyes. Something must have gone right, though, because she was smiling off into nowhere right then. She’d realized something, probably.

Though he didn’t want to interrupt her thoughts, a thought of his own had been bothering him for weeks, now. And it’d gotten to the nails-on-a-chalkboard point, demanding answers.

“Hey, Jocelyn, got a question for ya,” he started.

She gave her eyes another swipe before turning to him. “Yeah?”

“That night we…” _met?_

Too awkward. He dropped the sentence and moved on, “Why’d you put knives on your shoes?”

To his surprise, she blushed, looking away and fluffing her curls over her dark cheeks. “Right, that… Um, actually, I saw this YouTube video a while back…a [ballerina with knives on her slippers](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Dx93DsA7UHhs&t=MzQ3YzZkMGI0YTMwYzM4NGU5MDAwMjk5Njc4ZGUyMWNjYjk5MGU1MyxaeWhkdERXbw%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F164809124704%2Fthe-dancer-part-3&m=0), dancing on a grand piano on a stage. We showed it in my class. It’s supposed to be artistic, about the struggles and pain of ballet, how hard and dangerous it can be. The trials of passion. But the image stuck in my head, and I decided I wanted to try it.”

As a ninja, he could understand the desire to push yourself beyond your body’s limits…he and his brothers did it all the time…but even _they_ had safety precautions in place, and each other if anything started to go wrong.

For Jocelyn to do this incredibly dangerous thing, alone, on a rooftop, in the dead of night…

“…That was very reckless,” he told her.

She glanced at him, a kind of fire in her eyes. “Can’t say I appreciate hearing that from _you_ ,” she snapped.

He bristled. “What’s that mean?”

“It means of everyone I’ve known, you’re the _most_ reckless,” she told him.

He scoffed. “You hardly know anything about me.”

“Even so,” she intoned.

He had to bite his tongue then. This was the first time she’d irritated him, and suffice to say he didn’t like it. He rose to his feet, a towering mass of hard skin and muscle. “Yeah, I’m impulsive – what of it? At least when I train, I use safety nets. _You_ had none.” His concern for her made his tone harsh and biting.

He could tell this embarrassed her…which, honestly, made him feel bad for being harsh. But she needed to get it through her head that she had one life – and none of the physical advantages that he did.

He’d taken numerous falls from incredible heights and been fine, thanks to his shell and his training. She had neither of these things. If she didn’t protect herself with precautions, _nothing_ would be protecting her. And that…scared him.

He couldn’t imagine her dying. As it was she’d come far too close to that their first night.

Glaring at him now, she spat out, “Maybe I didn’t want a safety net. Maybe I felt if I fell, I’d be fine with that.” 

That…chilled his bones. Did she just admit to being _suicidal?_

The mood shifted. Rather than anger, now he felt concern. He came closer and crouched beside her – she turned her head away.

“Jocelyn,” he started, a warning in her name. But he didn’t know what to say now, how to continue. He wanted her to explain herself, to ease the fear taking root in him. Surely, surely it couldn’t have been _that_ bad…? Silence stretched out between them, each beat of his heart the only interruption in the stillness they shared.

Patience wasn’t a strong suit of his, but for her, he waited.

Then, after several excruciating moments, she bit her lips and started. “Things…hadn’t been going so well in my life. Even my dancing became draining. So I made a gamble,” she said lightly – her words anything but.

“I decided to try out dancing with the knives. If I couldn’t find my fire again this way, it’s just gone,” she said, looking down. “And if I hurt myself along the way and _couldn’t_ dance anymore, just as good.”

How…sad. He understood struggle, disliking who you were and being uncertain what you wanted. He knew the feeling. And while part of him wanted to rant at her that she didn’t really know what it was like to have a hard life, he didn’t – because pain was relative.

She’d hurt, and that was more important than a competition about which one of them had hurt worse.

“And now?” he prompted, hoping to get her mind on better subjects. After all, she might have been gambling that night, but over the last weeks she’d seemed to be getting happier. A part of him liked to think it was because of _him_ , but the rest cautioned him against hoping. For all he knew she’d gotten a boyfriend.

God, that thought sent a spear of pain through him.

Jocelyn gave a weak smile. “Well, I’m not sure if I found my ‘fire’ or not…” Trailing off, she looked back at him, holding his gaze. “But I found something better.”

Heat bloomed in his chest, a sweet kind of ache taking up residence there.

* * *

“Yeah…that was our first major rift,” Raphael was saying, thinking back on their first adventure fighting Shredder and the Foot Clan.

It’d been a week since he’d questioned Jocelyn about the knives, and the talk seemed to have broken down a wall between them. This was only the second visit they’d had since then, yet he was talking about his greatest struggles. It was bizarre, yet strangely relaxing. Talking to her was so easy…

And she was listening, all thoughts of practice gone. She was hanging on his every word, and while it was kind of uncomfortable having that much undiluted attention on him…it was also kind of thrilling. Her pretty green eyes riveted to him made him equally nervous and – dare he admit it – aroused.

Not that he would _ever_ say those words aloud.

“I almost walked out on them. I _wanted_ to, though at th’ time I didn’t understand why.” It was strange, thinking back to that time and analyzing everything for the first time in years. He got it, now – he understood why he’d done everything he had, why he’d said the hurtful things he had.

But, at the time, it’d been as much a mystery to him as it’d been to them.

He’d also apologized for it – eventually.

“Sounds like you have a very typical brotherhood with them,” Jocelyn observed.

Part of him took offense to that comment. How could she possibly know anything about his relationship with his brothers – even including the fact that he’d been talking about them for the last hour? She’d seen them together once, and that exchange had been anything but ‘normal’.

“What makes you think anything about us is ‘typical’?” he demanded.

Her brows hiked up, surprised by his aggressive tone. “Uh, because of the way you described it?”

“Ain’t nothing normal about us, Jocelyn,” he told her, a warning in his tone. He liked her, yeah, but he still _hated_ being assessed.

“Oh, right,” she snapped, “except everything about the rivalry you just told me about. And the pizza. And the yearning for acceptance. Totally nothing normal.”

He pointed a finger at her. “You watch yourself. I don’t take well to bein’ judged.”

She threw up her hands. “I don’t get you. Literally everything you just said suggests you want to be normal, yet you reject the very idea of it? What is _with_ you?”

He _almost_ snarled at her. Instead he turned his back, now sitting on the edge of the building with his legs dangling above nothing. “You know _nothing_ about me,” he said, more to himself than her.

“For god’s sake,” she declared, and he heard her stalking over to him. “Look, is it really so bad to admit that you’ve had a lot of the same experiences as everyone else –”

“It’s not the same!” he snapped, interrupting her. “You can’t compare _your_ life to _mine_ and expect it to be equal! It’s not. Get me? Nothing about us is _equal_. I’m a freakin’ mutant turtle, lived my whole life in the sewers while learning how to be a _ninja_. Explain to me how your _sadness_ over dancing at all balances against that?”

She clenched her jaw, muscles tensing in her neck and cheeks. Great, now he’d pissed _her_ off. He looked away, down at the ground. Any other time he would’ve just left – strange how he didn’t feel the urge to do so now. If anything, a part of him was rooted in place, waiting with bated breath to see how she was going to react.

Seconds ticked by, piling one on top another, seeming to grow heavier with each one. After a few moments of this, he couldn’t even be sure Jocelyn was still there, and he didn’t want to look and check – just in case she really had left him. Sure, he would’ve heard it if she took off…probably…but still.

And then he heard her sigh. “You’re right,” she started. “I could never understand your life. Any comparison between you and me would feel like a joke.”

Guilt assaulted him, even as he agreed with her. His head lowered a fraction.

“Sounds like you’ve had it rougher than anyone else has. Well, you and your brothers, to be precise,” she allowed. “I won’t pretend like I get it. Your past is terrible and beyond my grasp. But…”

There was another lengthy pause, and then her arms were sliding around his neck, grasping under his chin, her hands cold from the night air. Her scent wrapped around him, filling his nose more strongly than it had since their first night, when he’d had her in his arms. He could feel her weight against his shell, slight though it was. And when he turned his head just a little, he could see her chin poised on its edge.

His heart started hammering in his chest.

She smiled, then continued, “But I can at least help you have a better future, yeah?”

Jesus, he felt like he might cry. There it was, right in plain sight: the acceptance he’d yearned for all his life. No fear, no disgust, no anger. Jocelyn had taken his scathing words and just…let them go. It was almost unbelievable. Even his _brothers_ had a hard time dealing with him when he got snippy – the very concept that Jocelyn could handle him was baffling.

He swallowed, everything feeling heavy and hot all at once. Then, as if drawn by unseen strings, he turned around, facing her. She shifted to allow the move, drawing back until only her hands remained on him, poised on his shoulders. With the moonlight above and the string lights around them blinking, it felt ethereal, like a dream.

At that moment, she’d never looked more beautiful – and he’d never had such a strong impulse to act. But fear held him back, unsure what would happen if he reached for more than she was willing to give. Was she offering him companionship, or more? And would he lose everything if he _sought_ more? He was too afraid to even check how _he_ felt, what _he_ wanted – let alone to gamble on what _she_ did.

Granted, he’d – shamefully – pleasured himself to thoughts of her, but even now he firmly believed that was all it’d ever be. She’d never want him the way he wanted _her_. He knew that. They weren’t the same species, for fuck’s sake.

Her seeing him the way he saw her was an impossible dream. He told himself that even now, despite how it made his heart ache.

Sitting like he was, she was taller than him. He had to look up to see her face. It was strange, but he…liked it. Something about this angle, his chin up and hers down, got to him. _She’ll never want you,_ he told himself, even as he found himself begging her for it without words. He couldn’t make himself act, but he _could_ hope.

She seemed to be waiting on _him_ to do something, he realized. But all he could think was how much he wanted to kiss her, how much he ached to taste her. His eyes dropped to her lips; she bit her bottom lip; he tore his gaze away, the sight affecting him too deeply.

Unable to stop himself from doing _something_ , he lifted his hands to grasp her hips, giving her a tentative look; she did nothing to stop him. Some kind of strangled noise escaped him, the result of clashing sensations – his chest felt full of pressure and needles, pricking at him; he had just as strong of an urge to leave as to get closer; he _wanted_ , but he couldn’t decide _what_.

He dipped his head, hoping that just not looking at her would help. It didn’t.

And then she stepped closer, bringing her arms around his neck again. His head bumped into her shoulder, hands shifting until he held her more fully…and he smiled.

An embrace. A real embrace – the kind of thing he’d never thought he’d experience. It had his heart pounding from nerves, wanting nothing more than to bring her even closer. He wanted to cradle her against him, bask in her warmth, sit her in his lap. He never wanted to let go. And, strangely, it helped to calm his riotous impulses, allowing him to _choose_ what to do with a cool head.

And he chose to just sit like this for as long as she’d allow.

* * *

Jocelyn chuckled. “I live in this building, Raphael,” she told him, pointing down at the roof under her feet. “To get back to my place I just go through that door,” she said, gesturing the rooftop doorway behind her.

“Oh.”

He’d just offered to escort her back home – a thought he’d had in the past but had been too nervous to suggest. He couldn’t help it; after that embrace a few days past, he’d been going crazy with desires for more. She was god damn irresistible to him, leaving him desperate to get whatever scraps she’d give him as if he were starving dog.

“But, if you want, I don’t mind walking a couple flights of stairs with you,” she offered.

Right. Like he could just walk around an apartment building. No biggie. He could just imagine all the ways that would end badly.

It was hard not to scoff. “I don’t think that’ll work out,” he replied.

She shrugged. “The other option is to just go through a window,” she suggested.

That…wasn’t a bad idea. They did that when they visited April all the time. And, honestly, the idea of seeing her room was intriguing. He’d bet it was a weird mix of dark colors and lacy things, an amalgamation of her preferred color scheme and profession as a ballerina.

“Which room?” he asked now.

“1705,” she answered.

With no context for that alongside the window placement, he pressed, “And which _window_ is that?”

“Oh.” She paused a moment. “Uhh, well, it faces that way,” she pointed past him. Evidently she’d never considered this before. “17th floor…I guess I should just head down and open the window for you?”

“Yeah, probably,” he agreed, trying not to laugh.

She got up. “See you in a minute, then. And no laughing. At anything,” she told him.

He raised his hands in innocence. “Hey, no problem.”

Her eyes narrowed on him, suspicious, before she went inside. He got up, went over to the right side of the building, and looked down. Sure enough, there was a fire escape going the length of the side, poised at each window. He climbed down the ninja way – to avoid anyone happening to be looking out of their window at that moment.

He hung onto the metal railings, all but dangling off the thing, for half a minute before a window slid open. Out of reflex he ducked his head, just in case it wasn’t Jocelyn.

It was. She poked her head out and glanced around until she spotted him, then gestured him inside.

Third window from the left, out of twelve, he counted. Three down, three from the left, west side. He made sure not to forget it as he slid in through her window, repeating the directions over and over in his head until he was sure it was memorized.

Her room, he immediately saw, was neither of his predictions. Oddly, just about everything was in soft shades of lavender and yellow. In a word: pastel. And while he _did_ see some lacy things in plain sight, they were clearly ballet-related, probably costumes or pieces of them. A vanity sat off to the side, the mirror lined with loose ribbons and covered in various makeups. An absolutely tiny bed was centered against the far wall, beside her door, and covered by the fluffiest blanket he’d ever seen.

There was also a desk with schoolbooks on it, a bookcase full of magazines and knickknacks, and a wide dresser – but, from what he could see, no closet. There _was_ another door, but it clearly showed a bathroom sink through it. He did, however, spot a _huge_ number of shoes in one corner, and a pile of stuffed animals in another. Everything was weirdly organized, he noticed, seeming almost numerical.

She had several posters up as well, half of them ballet and a few more for movies and bands. He recognized one as a poster of Patrick Swayze. One of them stood out from the rest: a woman with intense black makeup on her eyes – which were red. It read ‘Black Swan’.

“Hey, I remember hearing about that movie,” he commented. He hadn’t seen it, but for a while people were talking about it _everywhere_. As he spoke, he glanced at Jocelyn and noticed she had already changed. Her leotard and tights were replaced by a t-shirt and shorts.

Her gaze was suddenly riveted to her thighs, despite trying to tear his gaze away. And were those freckles on her legs, as well? There was very few of them, just a light spattering, but it kept drawing his eyes back.

She nodded, not seeming to notice his staring. “It was…a pretty accurate movie,” she agreed. “The ballet parts, anyway. You don’t actually get a lot of girls going insane for their roles.”

“Yeah, I bet,” he chuckled. His struggles to keep his eyes off her legs eventually succeeded, leading him to give the room another once-over – and he noticed that a lot of her posters said ‘Swan Lake’. He guessed it was important to her. Not only that, but he started to see that no less than three of her posters featured someone named ‘Misty Copeland’, a dark-skinned ballerina. Like her.

Her idol, he guessed.

As he looked, she walked through the adjacent door. She leaned towards the mirror (he kept his eyes _off_ her ass) and – pulled a contact lens out of her eye? She flushed it out, put it in a contact case, then did the same for the other.

“I didn’t know you wore contacts,” he said, surprised.

“Yep,” she said, putting on a pair of glasses as she turned back around. They were oval with nearly-invisible rims, and he actually found them kind of cute.

“You always wear them?” he asked.

“Usually. When I practice it’s not so important, but when I perform, it’s imperative,” she answered. “They can get uncomfortable, though, so I prefer my glasses.”

He nodded, understanding even if he couldn’t empathize. “So what’s with all the Swan Lake posters?”

“It’s my end-goal,” she explained, walking back into her room. “Depending on your personal preference, it’s the most incredible ballet there is. It can be considered the height of a girl’s career if she plays both the black and white swans. Odette and Odile.” Then, standing before one of the posters of Misty Copeland, she added with a pained smile, “Colored girls don’t tend to get either role.”

“And I bet that won’t stop you,” he commented, looking right at her. She was an incredible girl, he was discovering – just seventeen, yet she already had her life figured out.

She gave him a smile. “‘Course it won’t. But there’s still a really long road between here and there,” she said, gesturing herself and the poster nearest her. “Anything could change. _I_ could change.”

“For the better,” he suggested.

“I hope so,” she chuckled. “I already feel like things have changed. I’m really glad we met, Raphael,” she told him, a wealth of emotion in her voice.

He swallowed, fighting down a whole wave of impulses – to touch her, say something unbearably corny, do a freaking backflip. “Yeah, me too,” was his brilliant response. He looked away.

Then she stepped closer, almost right up against him – closer than they’d been since their embrace a few nights ago. His pulse started hammering, nervousness making him feel like if he’d had sweat glands, he’d be sweating right now.

Her hand lifted, brushed against his cheek; suddenly he just couldn’t get enough air in his lungs. That one, little touch reached right into his heart, it seemed. His errant impulses got all the stronger, all but demanding he act.

 _Kiss her,_ a little voice said.

Fear that the little voice as horrendously wrong was the only thing that kept him from doing it.

“You know, bizarre as this might be,” she began quietly, “I really like you.”

The way she said that…god, he was smitten, wasn’t he? It made him feel giddy as hell, made him clench down on his damn throat to keep from whooping. Yeah sure, it was his first confession, but even if it hadn’t been he’d still feel like screaming with victory. Jocelyn got to him. He honestly felt like just picking her up and running off to a secluded place where they could be alone.

Well…more alone, anyway.

She rose just a bit – standing on her toes – and gripped his harness with both hands, giving them a tug. He didn’t budge despite the increasingly crippling desire he had to act, and several inches separated them still. “I can’t get any higher than this,” she teased. “You need to come down here.”

“That might not be such a great idea,” he replied, his voice gritty and hoarse from how hard it was to turn down what was _excruciatingly_ obviously a ‘kiss’ moment. God, he wanted nothing more, but a paralyzing fear that this might go south stopped him.

“Sure it is,” she murmured, her eyes dropping to his mouth before lifting back to his gaze. “Let me show you.”

And this giant, beefed-up, powerhouse mutant turtle…found himself completely under the control of the slim dancer before him. He crumbled.


	4. A Chance Worth Taking

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing/sexual references)

* * *

* * *

* * *

“You _can_ kiss…right? I’m not imagining that?” 

The tentative question, coupled with the word _kiss_ , nearly wrecked all of Raphael’s cumulative discipline. _Impulsive_ didn’t mean _uncontrolled_ , after all. He had absolute control over his actions – just less so with what his body wanted to do. 

“Y-yeah,” was his hesitant response, already mid-crumble. Jocelyn’s lips were drawing closer as he leaned in, regardless of how much caution was screaming at him that he should _not_ be doing this…because, damn it, he wanted to. 

_This can only end horribly,_ a part of him said. _  
_

_I don’t care, I’m doing it,_ he replied. 

And when he got close enough, she lifted her chin to meet him. Even if hesitation would have left a little space between them, she’d have taken it away. A part of him admired her for that certainly, that conviction. 

A mixture of heat and butterflies filled him at the first contact of her lips. _They were kissing!_ The thing he’d always tried not to see because scathing jealousy was best avoided whenever possible…and he’d always believed that he and his brothers would be alone. Forever. 

They were the only mutant humanoid turtles in the world – who would ever show them any measure of affection? April, sure, but she was more of a sister than anything. He wasn’t about to delude himself into hoping for something _romantic_. No one would ever want him as a _man_ – he was a _turtle_. He would always be a turtle first. 

And yet…Jocelyn…his dancer…was kissing him. 

Two things became immediately obvious to him: first…sensation-wise, kissing was incredible but overwhelming; second, he’d kill to keep doing it. Even if his lips hadn’t felt anything, the rest of him was still feeling _plenty_. 

Joy, caution, surprise, disbelief, fear, confusion, admiration, affection; emotions kept sweeping through him in waves until it got to the point where he stopped paying any attention to them. Who had time to analyze such things right then, anyway? In his opinion, the slim girl in his grasp was more important. 

And _god_ if she wasn’t slim. He ached to hold her closer and tighter, but was afraid his grip would be too strong. It was the first time in memory he started seeing his strength as a problem. Even in the midst of this overwhelming moment, he was still paranoid that he might hurt her. 

Jocelyn chose then to withdraw; he followed until she dropped her chin, and he had to bite back a whine at the loss. He hadn’t wanted the moment to end – partly because it felt _great_ , and partly because he feared she wouldn’t agree with him. God, if she looked at him with disappointment or disgust, he’d just die. 

Then she bit her lip, lust plain in her eyes, and it felt like his skin tightened all at once. Oh, no – she agreed with him, alright, and it set his blood on fire to _see_ it. This was _desire_ , he realized, which he probably _shouldn’t_ be letting himself feel. Even the chance that this could end in tragedy should have been enough to deter him. This wasn’t a damn romantic comedy movie – this was real life, and he knew most relationships didn’t work out. He tried to remind himself of that, keep his feet grounded in reality. 

Instead, he all he wanted was more, all he could think of was _getting_ more. In fact, he wanted more than just ‘more’ – she’d shown him what a kiss felt like, and now he wanted to know what everything _else_ felt like. He could envision it already…the taste of her skin, the sounds she’d make if he brought his mouth to her neck…the feel of her back arching to his touch, of her thighs around his hips…the seductive scent of her sweat as he pleasured her…

Control, he was finding, was hard won and harder maintained. But he maintained it, damn it…for Jocelyn’s sake. As much as he craved becoming overwhelmed in these feelings, he wanted to _avoid_ overwhelming her. He told himself to go slow, pay attention to her reactions, give no more than she could handle.  

His hand settled on her neck, giving gentle presses to bring her face back up. At first his goal was to just look – after a moment of gazing at her, taking in her warm eyes, her adorable freckles, her thick lips… _looking_ became insufficient. It wasn’t enough to see her. 

He needed to feel her. 

He drew back in, his hand on her back pulling her in as he went. And, again, she met him halfway, her soft lips meeting his thicker ones. Her arms wound around his neck, her body pressing flush against him, and his pulse seemed to jolt in his veins. 

Her weight, her warmth, her soft skin, her _hair_ – it all felt amazing. This should be a crime, a creature like him embracing a dream like her. Jocelyn was too good for him, and maybe that was why he was so reluctant to let go now; after the life he’d had, he wanted to be spoiled more than anything. What better reward for all his sacrifices than to be able to hold and touch and kiss his dancer? 

And then he felt her tongue sweep across his lips. He nearly jumped right out of his shell, jerking back to fix her with a look of surprise and wonder – surprise because the amount of pleasure that had surged through him at the contact was mind-numbing, and wonder because even though he’d wanted more…he hadn’t expected to _get_ it. He’d truly thought she’d be more prudish than this. 

To her credit, Jocelyn looked chagrined. “Sorry – was that too fast?” she asked. 

Probably, he admitted to himself. But the gates were open now. After that first taste he couldn’t help but take more; he went right back in, cupping her cheek, and gave her _his_ tongue. He all but forced it into her mouth, making _her_ jump with surprise. And he might have felt bad – except for the fact that she was clinging to his neck now. 

They both seemed to moan in unison as their tongues met. And, god, if her licking had felt good, _this_ felt _phenomenal._ Scratch his first assessment of kissing; he’d kill to keep doing _this_. 

Every brush of her tongue against his sent another hot thrill through him. Eagerness suffused him, making him wonder just how far Jocelyn would let him go – and making him _desperate_ to find out. He was worried he was doing a shit job of kissing, but luckily she was helping him with that. With her hands on his cheeks, she directed him when and how to tilt his head; she nipped him when he lingered too long on the tail-end of a kiss; she gave pleased hums when he did something right. 

Good freaking god. This was unbelievable, incredible, overwhelming – and a ton of other words he didn’t have the vocabulary to use. In _moments_ he heard himself growling against her mouth, hands steadily holding her tighter and closer against him. Right then what he wanted more than anything was to reach down, seize her by the rear, and yank her up into his arms. 

And then they both heard the sound of a door opening and broke apart, frantic gazes seizing on the door to her room. _Her mom._ Honestly, Raphael had forgotten about her – Jocelyn so rarely talked about her, and on top of that, their make-out session had ceased all thoughts which weren’t centered around the woman in his grasp. 

Jocelyn hurried on near-silent feet over to the door, flipping the light off, then carefully turning the lock to it. Footfalls went past her door, a hint of a shadow trailing from under it as they went past. 

Jocelyn gave a little sigh in relief, then turned back around – by now he’d already slipped out of the window. He peeked through the curtains as she glanced around, clearly surprised that he was missing. Then she grinned, bit her lip and spun in place, clasping her hands to her chest, ending her celebration by falling back on her bed and kicking her feet. 

Smiling, himself, Raphael pulled her window closed. _See you soon,_ he promised. 

* * *

For all that Raphael couldn’t help jubilant cheering on his way from Jocelyn’s apartment to the nearest sewer entrance, once he was back home…he went from excited to hesitant. 

He was going to have to tell his brothers, of course – but how? When? What was he supposed to say? That question led to another: was Jocelyn his _girlfriend_ , or did that require a verbal acknowledgement on her part? On top of which, he could already hear Donny’s worries, Mikey’s complaints, and Leo’s disapproval. 

The only one he knew wouldn’t jump down his throat was the only one he knew was hard to rattle: Splinter. He was going to need his father’s advice anyway, he realized. So when he made it back, he gave only token hellos before making a beeline for Splinter’s alcove. His father’s room was beyond, but forbidden; neither Raph nor his brothers had ever ventured beyond this point. Luckily Splinter usually spent his time right there, tending to his banzai plants. 

At first, when the terrapin spotted Splinter, he couldn’t get his thoughts in order enough to say anything. He started pacing; Splinter watched, ever the patient one, for Raphael to calm and explain himself. 

It took a while. In the chaos of his mind fears battled with joys, leaving his body equally stressed. He was euphoric after the events of the night, but suddenly fearful he’d read to much into it. It brought him back down – _hard_. Yet, at the same time, Jocelyn’s smell lingered around him, a comforting, promising presence clinging to him everywhere he went. This see-saw of emotions was going to exhaust him at this rate. 

His heart just wouldn’t calm – even after he forced himself to kneel down, ready to talk. 

Splinter sat across from him, eyes and ears forward, attentive. 

_Tact_ was one of Raphael’s weakest skills, even while his mind was ordered. So when he opened his mouth, the first words out were, “I think Jocelyn is my girlfriend.” 

There was only a mild reaction from Splinter – less surprised, more understanding, and Raphael couldn’t decide if he should be offended by that or not. “What makes you ‘think’ so?” Splinter asked him. 

“She –” He cut himself off, deciding against reporting that she was the first one to make a move at the last second. “We…tonight, we kissed.” God, it was both difficult and pleasurable to say those words. Not to mention it was an understatement; they’d fucking _made out_ , the memory making it constantly more difficult to keep himself still. Jesus, he wanted to go run into his room, jump in the shower, and get himself off. 

After those thoughts it was almost impossible for him to look up, embarrassed over his fantasies and afraid he was about to receive some kind of a backlash from his surrogate father. 

Instead, Splinter just nodded, thoughtful. “I see,” was all he said. 

The moment was bizarrely anti-climactic. Raphael found himself looking Splinter up and down, trying to read any kind of movement he might have missed. Was that…it? 

“You seem surprised,” Splinter noted. 

“You don’t,” Raphael returned. “How’re you so…chill?” 

A soft chuckle accompanied a gentle smile from the rat. “Because, my son, just as I knew you and your brothers would some day leave our home here, I also knew _this_ would someday happen.” With a wide gesture, he explained, “Humans, at their core, are more inclusive than you, in particular, have ever believed. Romance was always inevitable.” 

Raphael sat back on his heels, dumbfounded – and irritated. “Well, gee, you coulda told me that,” he snapped. 

“I could have,” Splinter allowed, “but you would not have believed me. This was something you had to discover on your own.” 

Begrudgingly, Raphael accepted that. Of the four of them, he _had_ always been the most pessimistic, the most certain that humans would never accept them. It was why he’d gone for the purple ooze last year, for a while positive that looking human was the only way they’d ever get the acceptance he’d always craved. 

He still wasn’t sure he’d made the right decision, breaking that canister – but at the time, it’d _felt_ right. Maybe that’s what mattered the most. He’d chosen family over ease. So had they. 

“I take it you have yet to tell your brothers?” Splinter asked then, drawing him from his thoughts. 

Shaking his head, Raphael answered, “Haven’t figured out how to. Mikey might cry,” he half-joked. 

With a chuckle, Splinter replied, “They will be happy for you.” 

“And jealous.” 

“Perhaps, but also _hopeful_ ,” Splinter pressed. “What is true for one is true for all – if you can find romance, _so can they_ ,” he said, emphasizing the words. 

An excellent point. But Raphael still felt incredibly awkward about the whole thing. “Sooner or later,” he finally said, referring to when he’ll tell them. 

“Preferably sooner,” Splinter advised. 

Nodding, Raphael got back to his feet. “Once I know what to say, yeah.”

“If you’re worried about that, perhaps you can have Jocelyn tell them?” Splinter asked, a note of humor to his voice. 

Honestly, that idea horrified him. Have _Jocelyn_ tell them? Sure, she _would_ – everything he knew about her said she tells it like it is, and doesn’t mince words. He could see her walking right up to the others with the biggest grin, shamelessly declaring how they were together now. 

He just didn’t _want_ her to do it. These were his brothers, he’d handle telling them everything. And while the idea of hiding his relationship was tempting, it would make him a hypocrite – _Where’s the honor in keeping secrets from your brothers?_

No, he’d tell them. Soon. Ish. 

Probably. 

But first…he had a lot of pent-up passion to get out of his system. 

* * *

Jocelyn was _elated_. She’d finally, finally – _finally!_ – gotten that dummy to get over himself and kiss her. She’d been trying to send him signals for weeks, now, only stopping herself from outright demanding he make a move because she knew he wouldn’t take kindly to that. 

Instead, she’d waited, giving him patience. The fact that he never once mentioned a girlfriend or even breached the subject of romance told her that he’d never had a relationship before. He was, in every version of the term, a virgin. She was _not_. And, knowing him, he would respond badly to that, so she’d kept her lips zipped and her hands to herself. 

Easier said than done, that. She thought he was hot as hell, an effortlessly attractive, sexy kind of guy. Pretty much since the day they met, she’d been having fantasies about him. 

She’d just chosen not to reveal that or act on them. She was intentionally giving him – the both of them, in fact – time. 

Now, however, she was excited. She’d finally learned the feel of his lips, the taste of his tongue. She’d felt his hands on her, clutching her close, and she’d loved every second of it. She sighed as she tossed and turned in bed, tired but too wired to sleep. She burrowed under her blanket, squealing into her pillow in a little display of joy. 

She absolutely _had_ to call Cassie and share the news. 

Well, you know…in the morning, when Cassie was actually awake. 

Jocelyn did so as soon as she woke up, still so gleeful that she was up with relative ease. Usually it took her upwards of twenty minutes just to get out of bed, her mind and body the sluggish type that just didn’t want to be awake. This time, however, only a mere three minutes passed as she struggled to get out of bed. 

Once she shook the lethargy from her limbs, she went right to the kitchen to get breakfast. Her mother had already left for work, leaving the teenager alone in her apartment. And while her skillet warmed, she called up Cassie, putting the phone on speaker so she could cook and chat at the same time. 

Cassandra, luckily, was the wake-up-at-six type and was fully up already. She answered, “Whassup, mah girl?” 

Jocelyn couldn’t help blurting out, “I got a boyfriend last night!” 

There was a squealing gasp, then Cassie demanded, “Who? When? Deets!” 

Oh, shoot. She hadn’t thought that part through. Hesitating, focusing on her eggs and bacon, Jo replied, “His name’s Raphael. He’s…Italian,” she began, shaking her head at herself. 

“Oooh, exotic,” Cassie cooed. “What else?” 

“Well, he’s….pretty damn big,” she chuckled. 

“…Jo, tell me you didn’t–”

Snorting, Jocelyn cut her off, “No! I mean he’s _tall_. Jesus, take off the porn shades,” she chided. 

Cassie giggled. “Sorry. So, go on!” 

“He’s kinda rough around the edges,” she explained, “but he’s a _total_ sweetheart. The way he touches me…it’s like I’m the most precious thing to him,” she sighed. 

There was another squeal, then Cassie whined, “Awww, I want one.” 

The blonde couldn’t help snorting at that, envisioning Raphael’s brothers. “A-anyway, he’s actually never had a girlfriend before. I’m his first.” 

“Holy shit!” Cassie gasped. “That means….oh, man, he has _no idea_ what he’s gotten himself into with you,” she chuckled. 

“Oh, shut up, I’m a good girl,” Jo snapped. 

“Liar.” 

Giggling, Jo couldn’t deny that. “Anyway, I’ll _be_ good with him. He’s…” She paused, idly stirring her scrambled eggs, as she thought of how to say it. “…He deserves to be happy, and Cassie…I so badly wanna make him happy.” 

There was a long note of silence, and then Cassie murmured, “That’s…really unlike you. I don’t know, Jo…this sounds really serious.” 

Biting her lip, Jo answered, “ _I’m_ serious. I’ve never liked anyone like this.” 

“I can tell,” Cassie noted. “I’m happy for you. Both of you. Now, tell me – is he cute?” 

Snickering, Jocelyn corrected, “More like gorgeous.” 

Getting more excited, Cassie replied, “Yeah? What else??” 

“Well…gorgeous…golden green eyes…thick lips,” Jo told her. “He’s so strong, too…the biggest muscles I’ve ever seen.” 

“And tall,” Cassie added with a dreamy sigh. 

“Like seriously tall,” Jo agreed. “He’s gotta be, like…six-foot-ceiling. A six-foot-ceiling wall of muscle.”

“Jesus, Jo, you make him sound so hot.” 

“He _is_.” 

“So when do I get to meet him?”

“Umm, I dunno,” Jo admitted. “His schedule’s wonky and he doesn’t even own a phone. We meet up kinda randomly.” 

There was a pause, and then, concerned, Cassie asked, “Are…are you sure about this guy? I mean, what does he do? Why doesn’t he have a phone? Who in the world doesn’t have a damn phone? Jo, are you–”

Cutting her off, Jo began, “Oh, shit, my bacon’s burning, call you back!” and hung up. 

The last thing she heard was Cassie yelling out a “don’t you dare”. Sighing, Jo flipped her completely not-burnt bacon, realizing in hindsight that she should’ve at least had a story ready before making that call. But she hadn’t been able to help it – she was so damn thrilled, she’d wanted nothing more than to gush about her new boyfriend. 

…Although, as that thought passed her mind, she realized they hadn’t confirmed that. And, really, what was she thinking? Raphael was this great, powerful man, so skilled and handsome and incredible. Jocelyn was just a ballerina, and not even the top of her class, at that. There was no way she’d ever be enough for _him_. 

Shaking that thought away, she firmly changed her mind. Maybe she wasn’t enough for him _now_ , but she could damn well build up to that. She’d make herself valuable and desirable, make him crave her every damn second of the day. She could do that, she thought; she could make him lament parting from her and eagerly await their next meeting. 

Decided, she scooped her ready meal onto a plate and placed it aside. Step one: eat breakfast. Step two: plot how to best get her boyfriend addicted to her. 

It was only fair, she thought. After all, she was already addicted to _him_ , still thinking about the taste of him the day after their first kiss. She couldn’t wait to see him again. She fully planned on easing him into the depth of her desire for him, of course, but she thought demanding his kiss was an okay starting place. 

She’d save everything else – nipping and biting, straddling him, giving and taking intimate touches – for later.


	5. My Girlfriend

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Seeing Jocelyn in their home-slash-lair, Raphael wasn’t sure how he felt. 

Jocelyn had asked to see where they lived, since he now knew where _she_ lived. It was reasonable, so after making sure everyone was cool with it, and maybe secretly hoping that someone _wouldn’t_ be (he _really_ needed to get a better handle on his possessiveness with Jocelyn), he’d done so. 

The trip down here hadn’t been so bad – aside from the fact that this was the first time he’d seen her in casual clothes (and, _damn,_ she looked good), he also got to hold her in his arms as he slid down the pipes. 

Jocelyn had been less than thrilled about _that_ part, though. When he teasingly asked her if she didn’t like water slides, she’d answered, _“No.”_

For that reason, he tried to make the landing smooth and gentle, lest she end up shaken worse than she already was. Ballet, he was learning, was _far_ different from ninjutsu or acrobatics. Jocelyn did _not_ like flips or high-speed slides. 

Once on the ground her first reaction was awe, as she’d looked around at what they’d assembled. “Cooooooool,” she commented. 

“Impressed?” Splinter asked, having had come over to them. Jocelyn hadn’t noticed him yet. 

The moment she turned towards him and saw him, however, she jolted and recoiled, and Raphael had to catch her before she could tumble over. Not the smoothest of introductions, he thought, wincing a little. That was the moment when Raphael realized he hadn’t warned her that their father was a rat. 

“My apologies,” Splinter began, “I did not intend to startle you.” 

Eyes wide, Jocelyn cleared her throat and made a visible effort to collect herself. “Not your fault. Sorry I….uh, jumped out of my skin,” she replied. She gave a sheepish, wincing grin. 

Awkward, Raphael gestured between them. “Splinter, Jocelyn. Jocelyn, this is our father, Splinter.” 

She gave him a pointed look, brows high. “Father?” 

“Surrogate,” Splinter explained. 

“I, uh…forgot to mention the rat part,” Raphael added. 

“Yeah. Ya did,” Jocelyn nodded. 

He could only shrug. “My bad.” 

That was when Mikey noticed their guest, and he immediately alerted Donny and Leo. “Hey, bros, Jo’s here!” he called, hopping a railing to make his way over to them. As soon as he got close enough, he paused to look her over, nodding. “Lookin’ good, girl,” he approved. 

Raphael had the urge to reach over and knock his teeth in. 

Jocelyn, far more graceful, just gave a little curtsy. It was at odds with her outfit – black cutoff jeans held up with suspenders, white-and-black striped leggings, flat-heeled boots, a sleeveless white shirt with a yellow smiley face on it, and a black biker hat with a decorative chain across the front – but was _just_ like her. 

“Hey, welcome to the fortress of solitude,” Donny greeted her. 

She smirked. “Not very solitary with five guys living here,” she pointed out. 

“Still isolated,” Leo countered. Holding out his hand, he said, “Nice seeing you again.” 

She shook his hand. “Likewise. Surprisingly well-decorated place you guys got here,” she noted. 

Donny shrugged. “We’ve had years to set it up.” 

“Point,” she admitted. 

“Here, I’ll give ya a tour,” Raph said, touching her shoulder for attention. 

“Oh. Right, sure, lead on,” she replied, gesturing that he lead. 

And now, an hour later,  Jocelyn was watching April’s videos of them when they were still babies, thanks to Donny revealing he had copies of them. As he played the videos, sitting in his chair, Jocelyn was leaned towards the screens, an elbow on the back of it. 

“So that’s, what, what normal baby turtles look like?” she asked. 

“Hell, nah,” Mikey argued. “We were _way_ cuter.” 

She chuckled. “I believe it. God, I might scream,” she said, standing upright with her fists at her mouth, grinning wide. “I had _no_ idea turtles were so cute!” 

“Yeah, maybe,” Raph started, honestly a bit irritated at his non-mutant baby self being called ‘cute’, “but that’s all in the past now.” 

“Oh, of course, it’s just – whoa!” She jerked back in time with a clip of one of them headbutting their glass cage. She gave Raphael a sideways glance, suspicion clear on her face. 

“Hey, we have no idea who that was,” he declared before she could question him. 

“Uh huh.” 

The way she deadpanned that agreement had him rolling his eyes. Mikey was laughing, obviously amused. Raph threw a bucket at him – the nearest metal object in reach. Even without looking at him, Mikey slapped it away. 

The clamor had Jocelyn glancing over again. Mikey pointed at Raph; Raph pointed back. She rolled her eyes. “Children,” she sighed. 

“Hey,” Raph said, annoyed. 

“Yes, child?” was her exasperated reply. 

Leo chuckled; Donny was smirking and shaking his head. And though everything was irritating about the exchange…Raphael found he couldn’t stay mad. In fact, he found himself smiling. Damn, but that woman got to him in the best way. 

* * *

“Ya know, I’m kinda surprised to see you like…this,” Mikey was saying, gesturing Jocelyn.

She glanced down at herself. “Whadaya mean?” 

“Not frilly or pink,” he explained. 

While Raphael was busy with Leo – namely playing Battleship, and Leo was winning as a surprise to absolutely no one – Jocelyn was sitting on a railing, chatting with Mikey. He was incorrigible, but in an adorable way. 

Honestly, she liked him. His energy was a little over-the-top, and it was pretty clear that his mind didn’t work quite the same as most, but when was that ever a bad thing? It was hard to dislike him. Besides, as the youngest brother of her boyfriend, she was determined to like him regardless. 

It was common courtesy. 

She tilted her head at his assessment. “You think because I do ballet, I should fit the stereotypes about it?” 

“I expected you to,” he reasoned. 

Rolling her eyes, she explained, “Very few performers fit that particular myth. Hence why it’s a myth,” she stressed. “I don’t even like pink all that much. I mean, when have _you_ seen me wearing it?” 

He looked confused. “Then why do ballet?” 

“You act as though _pink_ and _ballet_ are mutually inclusive, and they’re not,” she told him. “I do ballet because I like to dance. And of all dances, I love ballet the most.” 

“So, like, you don’t _just_ do ballet dancing?”

“Not by a long shot.” 

“Hip hop?” 

She shrugged. “A little of everything, to be fair. I don’t have a specific genre I like best. Anything with a strong beat is enough.” 

At that, he looked puzzled, and when she raised her brows in question, he said, “I’m just trying to envision a ballerina dancing to rock or whatever. Doesn’t look right.” 

She laughed. “That’s because I wouldn’t do ballet to a rock song, I’d do a rock dance to a rock song.” 

He clapped his hands. “Oh, I know what!” Then he sprinted over to a stereo, put a CD in it, and music began blaring. 

_Hollaback Girl_ , she deduced. 

Pointing with both hands at her, he called out, “Dance-off!” 

She couldn’t help a grin, hopping off the railing to join him. “Prepare to go down, little boy,” she taunted. 

“Careful my sick moves don’t give you orange fever,” he shot back. 

She couldn’t help snorting and giggling at that. Okay, that was clever. Gesturing him, she suggested he go first. The song was heavy on stomping beats, so she expected him to follow that – he didn’t, really, but she had to admit he _did_ have some _sick moves_. 

Once it was her turn, _she_ included clapping and stomping to fit the beat where he hadn’t. Soon they started lip syncing alternate lines, continuing to taunt with gestures as they went – especially when the lyrics went to the “this my shit” repetitions. She even used her hat as a prop a few times; Mikey retaliated by using his nun-chucks in a similar manner. 

It was a lot of fun, and by the end they were intentionally stepping into each other’s space to force the other one back in rhythms. 

It was _so_ much fun, in fact, that she failed to notice they had an audience. Donny was busy with his computers, but Leo and Raphael were nearby and kept sending them glances. And at the end, she was feeling hot and euphoric. God, she loved dancing. 

So did Mikey, apparently, because he was clearly gleeful. “Man, that was about the funnest moment of my life,” he declared. 

Though she just chuckled, it seemed he was leading up to something, because he stepped in front of her and started stammering. “Hey, uh, Jo – would you, uh…” 

Suspicious, she hiked up her brows, saying, “Well, spit it out.” 

Looking awkward, he blurted out in a rush, “Wouldyouwannagoonadatewithmesometime?” 

_Damn it_. She was worried that’s where he was going. And he looked so damn hopeful, it made her feel bad for having to turn him down. “Really sorry, Mikey, but that’s not a good idea…especially in this context.” After all, she was already dating _his brother_. 

He blinked, confused. “Whadaya mean?” 

“Well…for one thing, it’d make me a cheater?” she tried, equally puzzled. 

Surprise colored his features. “You have a boyfriend?” 

For a moment, she was stunned. How could he _not_ know that? Unless… 

She sent a glance over to the table where Raphael and Leo sat, then looked back to Mikey. “I’m sensing an imbalance of information, here,” she started, gesturing between them. “Hold that thought. I need to look into something…” 

Walking past him, she headed around the room towards the eldest siblings – and, if she was seeing this correct, Raphael was already partly ducking into himself, hiked shoulders hiding his face. 

“Raphael!” she snapped. 

He glanced over at her, the picture of innocence. “Yeah?” 

She crooked her finger at him. “C’mere. I have a bone to pick with you.” 

He looked back towards Leo then, and she could swear he was looking for a way to avoid what was coming. No dice. She crossed her arms. Leo took one glance at her and told Raph, “I think you better go see what she wants.” 

Cornered and outnumbered, he got up. Jocelyn took a few more steps away, bringing them into relative isolation for her little chat with her – apparently – secret boyfriend. 

And yet he _still_ played innocent, saying “what?” and shrugging when she gave him a hard look. 

So she whisper-snapped, “Why didn’t Mikey know we’re together?” 

Raphael opened his mouth, closed it, looked away and back. 

“You didn’t tell them!” she hissed, having a hard time keeping quiet. 

He gave her his best innocent shrug, replying, “It’s not _that_ important.” 

“It’s _extremely_ important!” she shot back. “These are your brothers, why didn’t you tell them yet? It’s been –” 

“I know,” he cut her off, giving a little wince.  

She was _pissed_. In fact, she had the urge to slap him. “You dropped the ball on this one, Raphael,” she hinted, voice hard. “I can’t figure – why wouldn’t you tell them? Are you ashamed of me or something?” 

“No! Look, it’s complicated…” he tried. 

“Oh, it’s complicated? Well it’s about to be less complicated,” she warned, “because if you don’t go out there and tell them _right now_ , I’m going to.” 

“ _No_ ,” he hissed back. “Look, I’ll tell ‘em!” Obviously _this_ was important to him – being the one to inform his brothers they were dating – but that just left her even _more_ baffled. If it was so damn critical that _he_ be the one to tell them, why hadn’t he? 

What the hell was going on in his head? 

She relented – partway. “You have ten seconds,” she told him, arms crossed. 

“What, right now?” he demanded, perplexed. 

It was all too obvious that something about this had him stressed and hesitant. Too bad for him, then, that she didn’t particularly care if he was worried about something. She was pissed; that left her too riled to be concerned over his feelings on the matter. Besides which, he didn’t even have an excuse to use for not having done this before. 

Time for some hard loving, she decided. 

She replied, “Ten.” 

By now all three of his brothers had gathered and were watching the exchange, though far enough away that she didn’t think they could hear anything. And with her ultimatum given, Raphael had little choice. Though he was still reluctant – they were going to have a talk about _that_ in the future – he turned towards his family. 

When he sent Jocelyn another glance, probably looking to be released from his duty, she stressed, “Nine.” 

_Now_ he was starting to look angry. And she got it, really – he resorted to anger whenever things were slipping out of his grasp. He felt safer that way, more in control. If it helped him here and now, fine; she didn’t care. 

But she wasn’t letting him get out of this. 

* * *

At that moment, Raphael would rather be facing down Bebop and Rocksteady alone. At least _they_ only wanted to hurt and kill him. Staring in the face of what may very well be torrents of jealousy from his brothers was _far_ more frightening. 

And it didn’t help that Jocelyn was putting so much pressure on him. He _needed_ to be the one to tell his brothers about them, and damn it, he _should_ have told them before bringing her here in the first place. 

But he hadn’t. 

It’d just been so _easy_ , falling into a routine with her and ignoring all other concerns. Granted, they were only guaranteed to see each other on Tuesdays and Fridays – the days she dedicated to dance; every other day she had the rest of her life to deal with – but he’d still been taking every excuse to go to her place. 

Some days she just wasn’t there; sometimes she had sleepovers with her dance friends. Any one of those days he could’ve talked to his brothers. 

_But he hadn’t._

And now things had reached a head, Jocelyn demanding he handle what he’d been avoiding for the last three weeks – or she _would_. 

Of all the ways he’d envisioned this scene happening, _this_ wasn’t one of them. 

“Uh, look, guys,” he started, still fighting an urge to drop it and escape. God, he did _not_ want to see envy on any of their faces – or, worse, disapproval. He paused to give Jocelyn a pleading look; he wasn’t sure his brothers were ready to hear this. 

Or so he kept telling himself. 

“Eight,” was her response, refusing to budge. 

He found himself comparing this moment to the time he’d leapt from that airplane. Though, in this case, he didn’t need to ask himself what Vin Diesel would do – the answer was obvious. 

Vin Diesel would’ve freaking introduced her as his girlfriend, proud and shameless and fearless. 

“Seven.” 

“Look, I’m tellin’ ‘em!” he snapped at Jocelyn. 

Her face remained blank and unimpressed. 

…He wished he had her confidence. But, then, she’d probably had a dozen boyfriends before him – and, damn it, that thought irritated him. He couldn’t think about that now. 

He took a breath, then gestured at her, finally forcing out the words, “We’re dating…Jocelyn and me.” There, _done_. 

Silence. Unlike Splinter’s quiet acceptance, however, he could see his brothers slowly swapping emotions, mute but speaking volumes with expressions alone. Well – Leo and Donny were, anyway; surprise and disbelief were clear in both of them. Mikey, on the other hand, was vocal as always. 

“You’re dating?” he all but shouted. “Ah, man, that’s why you said ‘no’?” he asked Jocelyn. “ _Damn!_ ” 

As Raphael processed this, Jo nodded. “Yeah, Mikey, that’s why I said no.” 

It clicked. “Wait, what?” he demanded. Rounding on Jocelyn, he snapped, “Mikey asked you out?” He didn’t wait for a response, but looked right as Mikey, a whole new wave of anger surging up through him. “You asked her out?!” 

“Hey!” Jocelyn reached up, turned his face back around to her. “You leave him out of this.” 

“He asked you out!” Raphael repeated, gesturing his brother and still sizzling over it. 

“Because he thought I was single!” she shot back. “And whose fault was that? Remind me. Who _didn’t_ tell him I was taken?” 

Chagrined and unable to fight back against that point, he huffed and puffed but remained in place, aggravated. 

Shaking her head, Jocelyn turned on her heel and started walking away from him. 

“Hey, where you goin’?” he called. 

“Somewhere I can fume by myself,” she snapped at him. 

Arms wide, he blurted, “You’re just gonna leave me here alone?!” Alone to handle what was coming?!

She spun back around to stare at him, gesturing his brothers. “You need me for this?” 

His annoyance made him snap, “No!”

He regretted it as soon as the denial left his lips. Hell, yes, he needed her. He’d only been able to get that confession out because she’d been there at his side. 

“Then what are you bitchin’ about?” she said. Without waiting another second, she continued on – specifically to Mikey’s skateboarding room. As she disappeared from sight, an irritated shout echoed through the lair from her new location. 

_Great_. He was pissed, she was pissed, his brothers were probably pissed. _Way to screw this up,_ he snapped at himself. 

He wanted to go after her – partly because he didn’t want her to be mad at him, but mostly because it’d give him an excuse to escape what was about to happen. 

“I don’t get it,” Mikey was saying, looking between Raph, Leo and Donny. “How did _Raph_ end up with a girlfriend first?” 

Still feeling defensive, Raphael replied, “Maybe I’m luckier.” 

“Heh, well, she’s cool, bro,” Mikey said, nodding. 

The careless acceptance from the one he’d most expected to be jealous stunned Raphael, leaving him blankly staring as Mikey wandered off into another room. It worried him, thinking that Mikey might be cool _now_ but he’d end up exploding _later_. Considering that had never happened before, it left Raph…unbalanced. 

Several moments passed in silence then, Raphael reluctant to look at Leo and Donny – still fearing he’d see what he didn’t want to see in them – and the both of them reluctant to say anything. 

And then Donny asked, “Why _didn’t_ you tell us sooner?” 

He could only shrug. “Dunno. It was hard…finding the words.” 

“Sure found the words now,” Leo observed. 

Raph winced. 

“Does Dad know?” Donny pressed. 

Raphael nodded, then finally looked over at them. Various levels of awkwardness spread out between the three. “I told Dad first. Needed his advice.” 

“Smart,” Leo approved. “And what did he say?” 

“That he should tell you,” Splinter interjected from nearby, “sooner rather than later.” 

Raphael lowered his head, feeling a measure of disappointment from his father. After all, ‘sooner’ wasn’t exactly synonymous with ‘three weeks later’. He should’ve had this figured out and over with in a maximum of a few days – instead it’d taken him a few _weeks_ , and even then only because his _girlfriend_ was braver than _he_ was. 

“Sorry, Sensei,” he muttered, at the moment feeling more like he’d failed his teacher than his father. 

“Hn,” Splinter grunted. “I am not the one you wronged.” 

At that, Raphael looked towards the skate room, where he could see Jocelyn doing stretches against a railing. “Yeah,” he agreed, the last of his anger vanishing from within him. Guilt replaced it. 

He must’ve hurt her. 

Leo came over and slapped his shoulder. “Always conquer the time-sensitive task first,” he advised. “Go patch things up with Jo.” 

“We’ll be here to give you an earful later,” Donny teased. 

Honestly…that made him feel a lot better. Raphael gave them both a smile. “I expected you to be harder on me,” he admitted. 

“Oh, we will be, don’t worry about that,” Leo told him, grinning. Then, giving Raphael a shove, he added, “Off you go.” But even as Leo seemed to be encouraging him, Raph got the distinct impression his elder brother wasn’t _happy_ with the development. Something was definitely brewing. 

And, as Raphael began his walk down the corridor, Jocelyn in sight, he was reminded of the night they’d met – of the uncertainty and hesitance he’d felt, the vision she’d made with her hand outstretched towards him, the words “come back here” echoing in his mind. This felt much the same. 

He’d disappointed and upset her. Evidently being a boyfriend was more complex than he’d thought. But he was determined to keep her, and he’d do what he needed to fix this.


	6. Doghouse

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Approaching Jocelyn now was one of the scariest things Raphael had ever done – probably because he had so little experience handling things he couldn’t beat into submission. Not to mention he’d never made a mistake like this before, and he wasn’t exactly the _thinker_ of the group. 

At best, his plan was to just be himself, be sincere…and have hope that Jocelyn liked him too much to stay mad at him. 

As he reached her, he noticed the way she kept focusing on her stretches despite the fact that he was _blatantly_ right there. Waiting for him? 

A little, irritated voice said, _Why couldn’t she have waited for me two minutes ago?_ He tamped that down. The last thing he needed was another bout of anger right now. 

After a hesitation to put his thoughts in order, he started, “I’m still…not sure what I did wrong, but I want to make it right.” 

_Now_ she paused, looking over at him. “That’s your opener, huh?” she asked. 

He shrugged. “Ain’t got a lotta experience with this.” 

“And what’s ‘this’?” 

Shit, she was going to make him say it. He looked away before admitting painfully, “Havin’ a girlfriend…havin’ a fight with my girlfriend…havin’ to talk things out.” 

For a moment she was silent, watching him. So he tried impressing upon her how awkward he felt by meeting her gaze. 

She seemed to get it. Hopping up to sit on the railing beside her, she replied, “I get the idea that you’re more used to having an argument, walking away, and when you come back everyone’s dropped it. No one deals with it.” 

_Nailed it._ How weird that she’d noticed that so quick…and that he felt embarrassed about it. 

“You’ll get none of that from me,” she warned him. “Call me Ms. Hard Ass, but I don’t just drop things like that. I will absolutely get down to the bones of _every_ issue.” 

Something about that little almost-vow impressed him…and scared him. 

“That said…let’s see if we can understand each other, kay?” she prompted. 

He wasn’t ready to delve into his own hesitations – not yet – so he replied, “Okay…why were you so upset about this?” 

“You mean why _am_ I,” she corrected. “I’m still irritated.”

 _Not_ what he wanted to hear. But he nodded, accepting it. “Right, why _are_ you upset?” he tried again. 

There was a pause before she began, “Because it’s imbalanced. You know what I did, first thing, after we kissed? I called up my friend Cassie and bragged that I got a boyfriend.” 

Heat suffused him – though if it was pride or embarrassment, he couldn’t say. “What, right after?” he asked, surprised.  

“Well, no,” she chuckled. “In the morning, after eight.” Then she laughed to herself, looking sheepish and swinging her legs. “I, uh…I may have gone a bit overboard with it, actually.” 

And now he was curious. “Yeah? What’d you tell her?” A part of him was reluctant to hear her answer, but the rest was _demanding_ it. As if he were starved for praise, he was eager to hear her gush about him. 

“Well…I told her you were Italian,” she said, then bit her lip. “And I…may have described you as a six-foot-ceiling wall of muscle,” she admitted, glancing away with her cheeks darkening. _Blushing_. 

God, that was so cute it had him grinning like a fool and shuffling in place a bit, unable to keep still. “Six-foot- _ceiling_ ,” he echoed. It was bizarre, how giddy that made him feel. 

Shrugging, she replied, “There’s like three inches between your head and my roof.” 

He wasn’t _quite_ that tall, but he found himself liking the comparison. He could swear his chest was burning with pride, making him want to puff up and strike a pose and flex and just show off. For Jocelyn to like even _one_ thing about him, not to mention a thing that he’d always seen as a barrier between him and humans, well…

…it was both humbling and liberating. 

Then she seemed to sober up. “Which is why, just now, when I found out it’d been weeks and you hadn’t told your brothers…it made me feel like you weren’t…happy with me.” 

Straight from _ten_ to _zero_ – just like that – his mood plummeted. He _adored_ her, honest to god. He could only stand in silence, shame oozing from him, shocked and disappointed in himself. He’d made her feel inadequate, he realized now, and that was the absolute worst thing he could’ve done. 

Now deeply regretful, he ventured, “Jocelyn, that’s…not…” 

She dropped her gaze, seeming to study her boots as she wriggled her feet. Either ignoring him or giving him an out (he couldn’t guess which), she went on, “Like while I was beaming and gushing, you were thinking how I wasn’t good enough…” 

…Or, his thought finished, she was just heaping on additional helpings of shame. God, he’d hurt her with this, hadn’t he? His secrecy – though designed to ease his own fears – had only served to damage her confidence in herself. 

That would _not_ do. 

He came closer, lifted her chin. “Jocelyn, you’re perfect,” he told her, emphasizing each word. “If anythin’, _I’m_ not good enough for _you_.” A giant turtle with anger issues, compared with a graceful and disciplined ballerina? 

If they were pitted in a death match based on merits, he’d have croaked before the gates were opened. 

Giving her head a tiny shake, she asked, “Then why didn’t you tell them about us?” 

Again, he hesitated to admit it. And while he was struggling to organize his thoughts in a way that would make sense – a feat, truly – he found himself thinking how much he liked the way Jocelyn was with him. 

She didn’t argue his comments or his, at times, poor choice of words. She just accepted what he said, because they both knew what he _meant_ , and – as she’d said once before – she’d never invalidate his feelings by arguing about them. Semantics weren’t important; heart was. 

She _got_ him…and she got _to_ him. Honestly, he couldn’t have chosen a better girlfriend for himself. Yeah, she wasn’t exactly what he’d envisioned his first girlfriend would be like (provided he’d ever get one, and his hopes hadn’t been high in that category), but that just showed the inherently flawed nature of imagination. 

What he wanted and what he needed were totally different, and while he’d never say he didn’t _want_ Jocelyn, far more than that…he’d needed her. The way she looked at him, listened to him, talked to him, _touched_ him…it was all perfect, as if she’d been tailor-made just for _him_. Combine that with how incredibly gorgeous she was to him, her odd mixture of genes that resulted in a dark-skinned blonde with green eyes and freckles, and she was an absolute dream come true. 

She was as unique as _he_ was, and he loved that about them. Which was exactly why he knew he had to fix this, had to explain himself, and needed her to forgive him for his blunder. Lining up was hard, though, and knowing she’d understand anything he had to say made him just begin, plans forgone. 

She’d get him. 

“Look, I know my brothers,” he started, planting his hands on either side of her on the railing and bringing his face close to hers. “I knew how they’d react, what they’d say, as soon as I told ‘em. And I didn’t want to deal with that.” 

She was watching him, and in a way he recognized by now: she was listening, _hearing_ , without an ounce of judgement.

He loved that look. 

“And,” she asked, “have they reacted as you expected?” No prying, no demands; just an invitation to keep going. She was a marvel. 

Raphael gave a weak shrug. “Not really. Not yet.” 

There was a pause, and then she asked, “Is this why you were so distant? Why you just left me on my own after we got here – you didn’t want them catching on?” 

Hesitating again, he ground out, “…Yeah.” It made him all kinds of ashamed, but yes – that was why he hadn’t been all over her, being possessive to a fault. That was why he hadn’t kept an arm around her this entire time, refusing to let her leave his side. That was why he’d bit his tongue to the point of tasting blood whenever Mikey had mentioned anything remotely attractive about her. And that was why he’d played freaking Battleship with Leo. 

A game he hated, and never more so than when he was against his vastly more strategic brother. 

Though she was obviously not happy with his agreement, she moved on. “Do you expect them to give you a hard time, now that they know?” 

“Yeah,” he said on a laugh. Leo had outright promised it. 

There was a moment of tense silence between them, her eyes silently asking him to keep going, to keep explaining. And after a minute of inner debate, he went for it. 

“I knew…I knew Mikey would get jealous,” he told her. “He’s been achin’ for popularity and girls for years, now. He wasn’t gonna take this easy.” The fact that Mikey _had_ taken it easy, though, threw Raph for a loop; now he was expecting something worse than just jealousy in the future. 

“And Donatello?” she prompted. 

“He’s a worrywart,” he answered. “He’ll have all kinds of concerns…about you, me, mammal vs reptile, that kinda thing.” He had to glance away when he said this, because just _imagining_ where that thought train was likely to lead was enough to stress _him_ out – and he was kind of scared of seeing Jocelyn’s expression on the subject, too. If he saw fear, disgust, hesitation, or anything like that in her… 

She didn’t push for details, thankfully. “What about Leo?” 

Leo was…the big brother. Always looking out for the rest – even and especially when they didn’t want it. 

“He’ll disapprove,” Raph told her bluntly. 

That surprised her. “Disapprove? Why? Because we’re not the same species? Because there’s an obvious power difference between us? Because you’re a fighter and I’m just a dancer?” She was working herself up, he noticed, getting upset again. 

So he hurried to stop that, saying, “Well, yeah, I’m sure, but plenty of other stuff, too. Like how bein’ with me could put you in danger, and how bein’ with you could distract me…” Which, he admitted, was already a proven fact. “He just…won’t want us t’get each other hurt, that’s all.” 

Typical big brother stuff. 

Calming, she nodded to herself. “I think I get it. But, Raphael…if you already knew how they were going to react…I mean, that should make it easier, right? If you know what’s coming, you should be able to handle it.” 

Not…exactly. And the more he talked about this, the more he realized how much fear had driven his decisions. He couldn’t help bowing his head, suddenly feeling unworthy of Jocelyn. 

“Yeah, maybe,” he admitted, “but…also not?” It was so hard to explain this, how he felt and why. “I didn’t want Mikey to hurt, didn’t wanna listen to Donny _talk_ about all the little things that could go wrong…didn’t wanna hear Leo go on and on about ninja codes and what it means, bein’ with you…a human…and I was scared that after all this thinkin’, gettin’ myself hyped up…they _weren’t_ gonna act like I expected, weren’t gonna care or would care too much…that I’d be wrong, about them and you and us…that they’d pull you aside and tell you things about me that I don’t want ya t’know…” _Horrible things._

As he spoke, his mood kept on dropping. Not just because of what he was admitting, what he was voicing – but because many of things he mentioned were things he’d been too scared to even consider, let alone realize he feared. 

And, worse, now he was on a roll. The words kept pouring out. “I was scared as soon I said it, as soon as I named you my girlfriend, I’d get proven wrong…you’d turn away, say that’s not the way things are. That I’d…be left alone and hurt before things had even gotten _started_.. _!”_

Jesus, it hurt just to _say_ those things! Just as he started a spiral down into despair, thoughts circling around all the reasons he didn’t deserve to have such an incredible, perfect girlfriend, Jocelyn’s hands were at his jaw, pushing with such a gentle pressure that he couldn’t resist lifting his head up again. 

Her eyes were glossy with tears, he saw, but she was smiling at him. And she said, “I was afraid of the same thing.” 

He scoffed, disbelieving that. 

“I’m serious,” she insisted. “I was afraid that as soon as I called you my boyfriend – _to_ you, anyway – you’d laugh and say how foolish I am to think so. That this was nothing but a fling and I wasn’t enough for you, anyway.” 

That was…still hard to believe, even as he knew she was being honest. He lifted a hand to her neck, thumb brushing her cheek, and leaned his forehead against hers. “I guess we were both bein’ dumb,” he commented, a note of humor to his voice. 

She gave a laugh. “Yeah, I guess so…afraid of the same thing for the same reason…which is _no_ reason,” she said wryly. 

He was smiling now, too. It felt good, clearing the air between them. “I think I got it…why you were upset,” he said, intentionally using the word ‘were’ this time. “I promise I won’t let it happen again.” 

With a chuckle, she replied, “That’d be kind of hard to repeat, in this case…unless you have more brothers you haven’t mentioned?” 

Honestly, the idea of having another of each of them almost had him shuddering. “Jesus, I hope not,” he laughed. “Don’t think I could handle more o’ them.” 

She drew back a little then, running her hands from his jaw to his neck and back up – her thumb ran up the column of his throat, and it felt so good he couldn’t resist lifting his chin a bit more. It was the kind of touch that would make a cat purr. 

She’d been doing that a lot over the last weeks: touching him. Usually it was small things, like her fingers on his arm, but sometimes it was a bit…more. He especially liked it when she used her nails just a little, scratching along his reptilian skin. It felt _great_. 

He retaliated, brushing his fingers through the hair above her ear; she tilted her head, her eyes slipping closed as she hummed in approval. 

It was a subdued, quiet moment – a more accommodating man would leave it at that, but the sight of her made him want more. Everything about her seemed to draw him in…and, hell, she seemed to really enjoy his touch and his kiss, so why both resisting? 

So he angled her head the way he liked – she opened her eyes, giving him a silent, inviting look – and he kissed her. His free hand settled on her hip, which he fully realized was a possessive move…and didn’t want to correct. 

Human or turtle, he was still a man – and he would damn well show pride in his woman. To be fair, Jocelyn was little different; though her hands continued to pet him for a moment, they then slid down to his harness and gripped it – refusing to let him back away. 

…God, he loved it when she did that. 

* * *

Later in the evening, they were watching a movie together – Paranormal Activity 3, to be exact. Jocelyn was seated between Mikey and Raphael on a couch, her legs folded under her as she leaned against her boyfriend. Donny was seated on the ground, essentially between Jo and Mikey, with Leo in a chair behind them, leaning over the couch in the space between them. 

The guys were rowdy, for the most part. There was a lot of backtalk at the television screen, and to her credit, Jocelyn just kept chuckling when they did it. She wasn’t nearly as vocal, though she still occasionally cried out at a jump scare or hid her face during some scarier moments. 

…And despite the horror movie playing right in front of them, exhaustion hit her before it ended and she fell asleep leaning on Raphael, her arms hanging on loosely to his. 

No one noticed at first – not even Raph. In fact, Mikey was the first to notice, gesturing her with a whined, “Oh, come on, she fell asleep?” 

All eyes shifted to her. Leo chuckled; Donny ventured, “I guess the movie wasn’t entertaining enough?”

Smirking down at her, Raph explained, “Nah, she told me this happens a lot – she falls asleep pretty easily if she’s idle for too long.” 

An effect, he was sure, of her constantly-in-motion day life. She’d told him that in dance class, she was wide-awake and bursting with energy most of the time; when she was at school, sitting in a chair, she started to power down. She needed movement to keep her awake, keep her going. 

Evidently she could _usually_ stay up through a movie, but there were plenty of times she’d fallen asleep before the ending and had to watch it later on Youtube. Neither of them had expected _this_ movie to fail to keep her up. 

“Kinda reminds me of a spinning top,” Leo commented. 

Raph rolled his eyes. He shifted in his seat, deciding to try waking her up – though it was a shame, really. She made an adorable picture, and it warmed him that she not only was trusting enough to sleep around all of them (four eighteen-year-old boys), but did so while _holding onto him._ Still, it couldn’t be good for her, sleeping sitting up like that. Her head was at a weird angle. 

Holding her steady with one hand on her shoulder, he extracted his arm from her grasp; she slid right out of his hold and _thumped_ against his side. The action jolted her awake, though, and she pushed herself back up and rubbed at her eyes. 

They both seemed to realize it at the same time: she was still wearing her contacts. With an annoyed sound, she pulled her little lens case out of her pocket. And with the skill of one who’d been using contacts for _years,_ she unerringly removed both and stuck them in the case, putting it back in her pocket when it was done. She blinked rapidly, getting used to not having them in anymore. 

Unsurprisingly, Donny noticed. “You wear contacts?” Though he didn’t expressly _need_ his glasses, he still used them almost constantly, and it led him to noticing glasses on others. Right now he wasn’t wearing them; they sat atop his head, out of the way, which he usually did when they were watching TV. 

Jocelyn nodded, giving her eyes another rub before very intentionally laying on her side, head on Raph’s thigh. Immediately he felt heat flush him – partly out of nerves but mostly out of some sweet emotion he was too scared to name. 

…She was too frickin’ _cute_ , posing like a damn cat. And as if she’d heard his thoughts and decided to mess with him, she reached around herself, grabbed a handful of hair, and spilled it over her uncovered arm like a blanket. Blonde-and-brown streaked curls half-covered her face and made a little pillow for her. Cute overload. 

“Like a sloth,” Mikey noted. 

Jo blind-kicked him in the leg, the hit _way_ too weak to cause anything more than mere notice from the turtle, then murmured, “Not asleep yet.” 

Raph laughed. When Mikey gave him a what-did-I-do look, Raph told him, “Talk shit, get hit.” 

Just then a high-pitched scream rang out from the screen. He couldn’t help looking down at Jo, just to see if she’d react – she didn’t. Her breath had evened out, growing deeper and heavier. 

They all mutually decided to leave it be. 

Until she started twitching a while later, arms and legs pulsing as whatever dream she was in kept trying to get acted out. Raphael was more than willing to let her keep on dreaming…at first. 

And then she seemed to be trying to scream, as well. A nightmare? Jesus, they were watching a horror movie, of _course_ she was having a nightmare! Concerned, Raphael started nudging her, trying to get her awake. Soon Mikey joined in, patting and shaking her leg. 

_I’m a_ really _heavy sleeper,_ she’d told him once. He’d underestimated it – it was more like trying to wake up a bear in hibernation! 

It took almost a minute to succeed, during which time Donny confirmed that her heart rate had increased as well. And, god, it was a horrible sound, those choked screams she kept trying to belt out. 

Once she was up, however, she shoved all the hands off her, clearly angry rather than relieved or scared. “What? Geez,” she muttered. 

“You were having a nightmare,” Donny informed her. 

“What?” she demanded. She focused on him with clear difficulty. When he repeated himself, she groaned. “It wasn’t a nightmare,” she complained, turning over so she was on her back, arms crossed over her stomach and drawn-up legs leaning on the back. She rubbed at her upper arm, face pinched in annoyance, and proceeded to ignore all further queries. 

“…That’s that, I guess,” Leo noted. 

“Yeah…didn’t think I’d ever find someone who fell asleep easier than Mikey,” Raph commented, giving his littlest brother a smirk. 

Arms wide, Mikey whined, “Why you always gotta pick on me?” 

“Why’re you such an easy target?” 

“Guys,” Leo interrupted, voice stern. 

Normally Raphael wouldn’t let it go that easy…but right now, he was his girlfriend’s pillow. He dropped it and, instead, half-watched the movie while deciding what to do with Jocelyn. Wake her up, take her home? Let her sleep? He _could_ give her his bed, he supposed. 

Honestly, he should take her home. It’s not like he couldn’t carry her all the way there. Surely she’d eventually wake up, and she’d be happy to sleep in her own bed. 

But…there was that possessive streak, again. Now that the image of her in his bed was in mind, he couldn’t get it out. 

And, wait, if she hadn’t been having a nightmare…then why had her pulse gone crazy? What was with those strangled yells? Was she dreaming she was at a death metal concert? Now he was curious, damn it, and he couldn’t ask her until she woke up. 

That left him a little irritated, and he no longer paid attention to the movie. His mind just kept circling specific thoughts: what had she been dreaming about, and should he take her home or not? 

Decisions, decisions…


	7. Sleepover

**Rating:** R (sexy things/swearing)

* * *

* * *

* * *

When Jocelyn got up the next morning, two things became apparent: first, she didn’t recall getting back home and nestled into her bed; second, Raphael was asleep beside her bed, a pile of her stuffed animals making a pillow for him. 

It was hard not to vocally _aww_ over him, laying on his stomach and clutching her collected toys. She couldn’t help but reach down and run her nails down his shell, and judging from the happy, guttural sound he made, he liked that. 

And, she found, he was _violently_ opposed to her – while she couldn’t be woken up with anything less than a gong, his eyes were open and aware from just that little scratch. 

It was the first time she’d seen him in the day, she realized. Granted, her window faced west and it was early morning, so all they had was glare…but still. 

“Morning,” she whispered, leaning on the edge of her bed and smiling. 

He smiled back. “Mornin’.” 

“So…I don’t remember the trip back home,” she admitted. 

“You were asleep for most of it,” he told her, moving to sit up. “You were only half-awake on the climb up here and when I put you in bed.” 

Sweetheart. She reached out to stroke his cheek, loving that chivalrous side of him. “Why’d you stay?” Not that she minded, but she also really hadn’t expected it. 

Neither he nor his brothers or father ever stayed above ground during the day, after all. He’d said as much more than once. Being mutants, they didn’t have much choice in the matter. 

He smirked at her, all knowing eyes. “You begged me to,” he answered. 

She didn’t immediately believe him – but she also couldn’t remember anything, and she’d never known him to lie. He was _probably_ telling the truth.  

Blushing, she muttered, “Did not.” 

Hands up, he insisted, “I swear. You grabbed my hand and wouldn’t let go. Kept sayin’ ‘no, stay with me’.” 

With an embarrassed moan, she smacked her face into the covers. She was all but drunk while half-asleep, had seen video evidence of it in action; she would _absolutely_ have done something that freaking embarrassing. When she peeked up from the blanket bundled in her grasp, Raphael was grinning – all smug. 

Unable to retaliate, she stuck her tongue out at him in the classic childish gesture of defiance. And his smile faded, all humor draining as it was replaced with desire. 

An answering hunger bloomed in her, and she pushed herself back up, trying to decide if she should let this happen or not – after all, she’d just woken up, hadn’t brushed her teeth or her hair, and probably had that baggy-eyed look people _always_ had. 

Well – humans, anyway; with irritation, she noticed that _he_ didn’t have that look. The point is she wasn’t exactly her usually bright-eyed and clean self. 

It would appear Raphael didn’t care. 

He edged closer, rose to his knees – taller than she was while sitting on her bed, the freaking giant – cupped her face and kissed her. It wasn’t a little, sweet, good-morning kiss, either; it was passionate and demanding. His tongue swept inside, seeking, and she loved it too much to deny him free reign. 

The taste and feel were exquisite, hard to describe and far more thrilling than any kiss she’d had before. In seconds it had her engines revving, urging her hands to roam over him; his neck, his chest, his sides – she loved the feel of his muscles twitching under her fingertips. To have his giant, muscle-riddled body reacting like this….it made her feel powerful. 

So much so, in fact, that she rose up on _her_ knees, pushing down on him from above. He sucked in a breath, clearly pleased with this, his hands starting to travel from her hips…upward. And, _god,_ she loved the feel of his hands on her skin; the wrinkles were rough but smooth at the same time, making the texture all too addictive for her. She wanted more. 

_Needed_ more. 

They were _just_ getting into it when there was a knock at her door. She jolted; he recoiled; her eyes sought out her clock (7:35); there was a bizarre _whoomp_ sound and a rush of motion as her blanket was yanked off the bed. In that flurry of movement, she _thought_ she saw Raphael…vanish, the blanket landing over him to expertly cover him up, but she couldn’t comprehend it. 

All this before her mother’s voice drifted through the door, “Jo? Are you up yet?” 

It was comical, in a way. Her mother never asked that question _quietly_ – because a sleeping Jocelyn wouldn’t have heard her anyway. 

“Yeah, Mom, I’m up,” she called back, crawling out of bed. She kept throwing glances over her shoulder as she walked to the door, checking to see if Raphael was at all visible – under the blanket, on the other side of the bed. Satisfied that he’d hidden himself perfectly, she tried not to look suspicious as she went for the knob. 

When she opened her door, her mother – Cecilia – was already dressed for work. Her secretary position at the law firm was a Tuesday through Saturday job, eight to six, with overtime always properly accounted for. Today’s ensemble was in rich reddish browns, Jocelyn saw, highlighting her mother’s tan skin and dark brown hair. 

“Your school called yesterday,” Cecilia began, “and wanted to remind you that even though finals are over, you _do_ still have to attend the last two weeks of school.” 

Jocelyn found herself nodding and rolling her eyes, fully aware of this rule. “Yeah, Mom, I know.” 

“And Miss Dubois called, she wants you to work on your extensions more. She says they’ve been seeming a little weaker than usual.” 

It was probably Jocelyn’s bored look, but her mother got the idea, nodding to herself. “Alright, fine, I’m sure you’ve got this.” Then she glanced into the room and noticed the wreck that was Jo’s bed. “You kicked off the covers?” she asked, dumbfounded. 

To be frank, Jocelyn’s room was rarely out of order. She had a mild case of OCD – had ever since her father’s death – and though it only really appeared in her room, it was just strong enough to compel her to keep things perfectly ordered. The shrink said it stemmed from an emotionally compromised mind; by ordering her personal items, it would extend to her emotions, allowing her to deal with tragedy more easily. Simply put, a messy bed rarely occurred. Everything always had to be just so. 

“I was hot,” she defended herself. “Don’t worry, Mom, I know how to make my bed.” 

Cecilia gave her an indulgent smile – which then faded to a look of nostalgia. She sighed. 

“What?” Jo demanded. 

“Where did my little girl go?” her mother suddenly asked, reaching up to stroke her cheek. 

Her mother’s paltry five-foot-two height, even in heels, couldn’t match Jo’s natural five-nine, forcing her to look down on her mother. “She grew up,” Jo answered her. “But she’s not gone just yet.” 

“One more year,” Cecilia agreed. Her senior year of high school started after the summer. 

It was the year Jocelyn would have to really focus and figure out where she was going to go after high school. Her dream: the Paris Opera House’s ballet school. 

_In Paris._

“Alright, let’s not get corny,” Jo told her, stopping the moment before it could get too emotional. “Don’t be late, now.” She gave Cecilia a little push towards the front door. 

There was a note of suspicion to her mother’s expression, but she still retreated, saying, “Take care, love. See you soon.” 

A tiny curtsy was Jo’s response as her mother finally left, locking the door behind her. After counting to fifteen and watching the door, Jocelyn felt it was safe to turn back. It wouldn’t have been the first time Cecilia had left just to turn right back around, intent on catching Jo in some sort of illicit business. 

She found Raphael peeking over her bed, the blanket still draped over him. Considering it was fluffy and lavender-colored, it looked ridiculous. 

She snickered. “Not your color, sorry to say.” 

He got up, tossing the blanket back onto the bed – full of wrinkles, folds and pockets. Her eyes latched onto the sight. 

“That was close,” he commented. 

“Uh-huh.” Distracted, she quickly fixed her bedding, making it look perfect again. Fluffed the pillow, pulled the corners to erase the wrinkles, aligned the sheet and blanket, tucked it in properly, and so on. 

Raphael watched her the entire time, and she could sense his surprise. She expected he wasn’t very domestic, probably never made his bed in his life. 

Once her job was done, she propped a hand on her hip and tilted her head at him. 

“What?” he asked. 

“How did you just…vanish like that?” she demanded. It’d been hard to see shapes under her comforter, but it was still pretty clear that his arms and legs had gone missing. 

“Went in my shell,” he answered with a shrug. 

Her brows shot up. “You did what?” 

A moment passed as the two of them stared at each other, equally surprised. Eventually he replied, “I…went in my shell. You know, like turtles do?” 

…Son of a bitch. It dawned on her then, and she couldn’t help a drawn-out “ooohhhhhhhh”. “I thought only tortoises did that,” she explained. 

He chuckled. “No, uh…turtles, too.” 

“Noted.” Another pause, and then she asked, “And…how did I get in my p-js?” She’d noticed after answering the door, but she was wearing a t-shirt and shorts, both dark green. _Not_ what she’d worn yesterday. 

And Raphael went from calm to uncomfortable in a snap. “You changed,” he offered, looking away. 

“ _I_ changed? My own clothes?” She was….slightly doubtful about that. 

“Yeah. Got you inside, you went straight for the dresser.” 

She shuffled, nervous. “Did you…see anything?” 

Eyes anywhere but on her, he answered, “Not…really.” 

“….Well?” she prompted when he didn’t continue, not entirely sure she wanted to _hear_ more. 

“Uh…well, I wasn’t expecting you to just…start changing, right there,” he offered, sheepish. “I turned around after you, uh…” 

She held up a hand. “Okay, that’s enough.” _Of course._ On top of being half-asleep, she was also a trained dancer – specifically trained in wearing skin-tight barely-there outfits and sharing changing rooms with twenty other girls. _Modesty_ wasn’t really a thing anymore after a few years of that. 

Couple that with Raphael being her boyfriend and, well….the fact that she found him hot….suffice to say she wasn’t really surprised that she’d changed in front of him. In her sleep-addled state, she probably _wanted_ him to sneak a peek. 

It’d probably embarrassed the hell out of him, though. 

Walking around the bed to her bathroom, she added, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have morning stuff to do.” 

After dealing with her _massive_ morning hair, brushing her teeth, washing her face, and relieving herself, she took Raphael on a tour – not that there was much to see. The bathroom connected two bedrooms; hers, and the “exercise” room, a.k.a. the first stop. Inside were a few objects: a weight set, exercise bike, punching bag, treadmill, velcro weights disordered in a corner, and a wall-sized mirror with a half-high bar across it. 

“ _That’s_ where you got that punching bag,” Raphael commented. 

“Yep. Mom uses it sometimes.” 

“She trains?” He sounded impressed. 

“She does now. All those used to be my dad’s,” she said with a gesture at the equipment. The mirrors and bars, however? Those had been installed for _her_. 

“Used to be?” Raphael echoed. 

“He died when I was seven,” she told him. “Lung cancer. But he was big on physical health. He loved that I loved to dance, said it would add years to my life…and keep me safe when the zombie apocalypse hit.” Ah, her father – master of the few jokes, as it were. He’d only had five or six, and he’d overused them to death. Julian Delaghy never was a clever man, but she’d loved him dearly. 

Somber, Raphael replied, “I’m sorry.” 

She couldn’t help a scoff. “Yeah, you and everyone else who’s heard.” There was a moment of silence in which she realized how harsh that’d sounded. Giving him a weak smile, she said, “Sorry…it’s just that it gets…frustrating. Everyone always says the same thing: I’m sorry for your loss, such a tragedy, the world is lesser without him, it shouldn’t have happened, et cetera. After a while it just starts making you angry.” 

* * *

Not knowing what to say about that, he just reached out to stroke her hair. She smiled, so he guessed it worked. He couldn’t imagine losing your father – couldn’t imagine a world without Splinter, surrogate father or not. But at least she still had her mother. 

Gesturing onward, she continued the tour into the living room. In his mind, he was building a little map of the apartment: not only was her bedroom the third window from the left, but all three were part of her apartment. One window for her room, one for the exercise room, two for the master bedroom (which was a bit bigger in both width and length) – it was the corner room. 

Across from her room was the living room and kitchen, which took up nearly the same amount of space that both bedrooms did. The front door was beside it, at a right angle next to the master bedroom’s own door. 

Once in the living room, she did a spin, gesturing various things. “TV, couch, kitchen through there, absolutely no natural light, and there’s Dad,” she finished, gesturing an ornate urn atop the entertainment stand. 

Cremated. 

The sight of it left him feeling awkward. He didn’t look for long. 

Apparently taking mercy on him, Jocelyn clapped her hands together. “So, how about breakfast?” she offered. 

The very idea had warmth coursing through him. His girlfriend was going to make him breakfast? Oh, he was so glad he’d given in and stayed over. Granted, she’d been so out of it she may as well have been drunk, voiding any requests she made…but, still. 

Besides, her pile of stuffed animals had been surprisingly comfortable. Many of them were squishy and soft, but pile enough of them together and they made a good, firm pillow. 

He tried not to sound too eager as he replied, “Yeah, sounds good.” 

She invited him into the kitchen, let him see the pantry and fridge and cupboards, all the while listing stuff they could have. Eventually he picked french toast – because it sounded amazing and he’d never had it. 

An entire loaf of bread went into it, he discovered. She saved six slices for herself and made the rest for him – though she refused to serve any until it was _all_ ready. And considering she was using a griddle, making eight slices at a time, that part didn’t take long. 

She was a bigger eater than he expected of a ballerina, he realized. He’d always heard they ate like birds, but when he pointed that out, Jo just laughed again. _Of course not,_ she said, _we exercise constantly, do you really think we could do that if we never ate?_

He was getting the impression that ballet was a lot harder than she made it seem. Watching her dance on the roof was one thing, yeah, but he admitted he didn’t know how much dancing she did every day, nor any of the other training she went through. They should compare notes someday. 

When she had everything ready and served him his plate, he had to laugh. She’d made the slices into a design, each one cut into fourths and aligned in a geometric pattern circling the plate. Hers wasn’t nearly so complex; her slices were cut in half triangle-wise and overlaid in a spiral. 

“That’s more effort than I woulda put,” he commented. 

“And that’s why you’re not the girlfriend,” she quipped. As he watched her, she aligned a bottle of syrup in between the salt and pepper shakers in front of her. 

The precision was quirky…but had him a little suspicious. He avoided questioning it for now, however. “So, you put syrup on this?” That’s what all media suggested, but then why the shakers? 

“I do, yeah, but not everyone does,” she answered. “Hence, options. My friend Christie uses salt, only ever salt. She says you make french toast with eggs, you put salt on eggs; ergo, you put salt on french toast.” She was rolling her eyes as she said it, clearly showing how she felt about _that_ opinion. 

He smiled, touched. She obviously disliked putting salt on this particular dish – but because it was his first time having it, she still gave him the option to do so. 

Might as well _try_ it, he reasoned. And after experimenting with all possible toppings, he went with syrup – because, honestly, _fuck_ salt. 

After breakfast, they went to the living room to mess around with the TV. And, he discovered, she had a Wii. Perusing the games discovered only two Mario Bros and a few of the Mii-related sports games. 

“I’m so bad at Mario,” she admitted, sounding pained. “I’m only any good at the Mario Kart one.” 

“Let’s play that, then,” he offered. 

An hour later, he discovered that she was _shockingly_ good at driving. She had a knack for it, it seemed; it was her one video game strength, she said. Everything else kicked her ass, but give her a driving game and she’ll wipe the floor with you. 

Not that Raph was an easy opponent, but he was surprised that she was still winning in a 3-2 ratio. Granted, he wasn’t the best at games either (that was Donny and Mikey’s area of expertise), but ninja reflexes gave him an edge. 

So did ballet reflexes, apparently. 

* * *

At 10am, her phone started going off. It was an alarm she’d set up to remind her when to go through her stretches and training, but while she _did_ kind of want to, she also didn’t want to stop having fun with Raphael. 

God, Jocelyn was smitten with him. Seeing him in her living room, on her couch, playing Wii with her, was bizarrely comfortable. So she turned off the alarm and said _fuck it_ to her ballet today. It was Saturday; she could afford to ignore it. 

Time started flying. They talked, they teased, he discovered her ears were ticklish; it was noon before she knew it, and they were back playing Wii games. 

The latest match in Table Tennis (they’d swapped to the sports game) was his win. When he grinned at her, wordlessly gloating, she had the strongest urge to kiss him. In fact, she was fully planning to – until he asked a question she hadn’t been expecting. 

“What were you dreaming about last night?” 

Startled and confused, she thought back. What _had_ she dreamt about? She didn’t remember a dream when she woke up this morning, but then her dreams were always elusive at best. 

When nothing came to mind, she replied, “What? When?” 

“Back at my place,” he clarified. 

That took another moment of thought, and then she was nodding. “Ohhh, right. When Donny woke me up.” 

Raphael agreed, “Yeah, then. You said it wasn’t a nightmare. Then what was it?” 

_I dreamt we were having sex,_ she thought, biting her lip as she tried to think of a better way to say it. “Well, it was….hang on,” she cut herself off. Setting the controller aside and turning sideways to face him, she explained, “It’d probably be easier to show you. You know how sometimes when you dream, it just picks up right where you were when you fell asleep?” 

He nodded, setting his controller aside as well. Judging from the look on his face – puzzled and curious – he had _no idea_ what was coming. 

And Jocelyn couldn’t resist taking advantage of that. So she scooted over, mimicking how she’d been sleeping on his thigh. “Started like this, and then I got up…” She did so, sitting up only to throw her leg over his and straddle him face to face. 

He was already getting tense, she saw. A muscle strained in his jaw, as if he were fighting himself for control. Hands on her hips, he didn’t seem to know if he wanted to bring her closer or push her away. 

She made the choice for him, pressing in closer, her arms linking around his neck and bringing their bodies together. 

“Jocelyn,” he breathed, a wealth of desire in that one exhale. 

Giving him a wicked smile, she angled her cheek against his to whisper in his ear, “I straddled you, just like this…and then we started having sex.” 

She may as well have told him he was about to be a father, based on his reaction. His arms snaked around her tight, then let go, then grasped her again; unable to decide what he wanted to do. She could hear and feel him struggling to find words, to handle what she’d just said. 

Put simply, Jocelyn had always been free with her affections. Not many had earned it, but those who had…well, she’d never felt shame or guilt for admitting she lusted for them. 

And she lusted for Raphael. 

Obviously, she wasn’t expecting a physical relationship to be easy. She may have – ahem – googled some relevant turtle anatomy articles and videos to get an idea what she was in for, but the consensus was that… _male turtle anatomy_ …was varied for each breed, and _massively_ oversized. Depending on how much that part of him had mutated, penetration could very well be an impossibility. 

But they still had hands and tongues…and creativity. They’d figure it out. 

And right now, she was _really_ craving that tongue. She drew back, catching his gaze – so much desire burned there, all but begging her to give him what he wanted. 

What they _both_ wanted. 

“Wanna fool around?” she asked, giving him her most inviting smile. 

Judging from his strained expression, he wanted nothing more. “We can’t just –” he started. 

She cut him off and kissed him, and at once the floodgates were opened. God, the way he devoured her mouth had her toes curling. By now she knew one thing without doubt: he _loved_ deep kissing, the kind that stole her breath and left no part of her mouth untouched. She could even feel him struggling with himself, fighting to control his strength, and it only served to arouse her further. 

Thrills raced through her at every stroke of his tongue, sometimes letting his tongue have free reign and sometimes fighting back. Fuck, he made her so wet, so needy – but as much as she loved his kiss, imagining his mouth _elsewhere_ had infected her mind. 

Her nipples had grown tight and achy, demanding attention. Her next order of business? She broke the kiss and rose to her knees, tossing her glasses blindly on the table behind her and pulling her shirt over her head to very intentionally bare her breasts _right_ in front of his eyes. Granted, they were small, hardly worth noting – but that just meant she never wore bras. 

She saw him get a good look before he snapped his head away, covering his eyes with one hand as if it could help him now. No quarter was given; she pulled his head back up to kiss that mouth again. He groaned, his hand settling on her ribs – higher than it’d ventured before – as if he wanted to stroke her but his chivalry wouldn’t let him. 

So she murmured against his mouth, in between licks, “Touch me.” 

He made a strangled sound; not a whimper, not a moan, but something tormented in between. Breaking the kiss and keeping his gaze _up,_ he said, “Jocelyn, we can’t do this…” 

Right – because one or more of them _didn’t_ want it? “Like hell, we can’t,” she replied, ducking her head to lap and suck at his neck. 

Another groan, so deep she could feel it against her lips. His hand found her neck, stroking as if he just couldn’t help himself. “…Can’t do this,” he echoed, the words much weaker than before. 

She ignored that – because she could hear what he _hadn’t_ said: _convince me that we can._

_As you wish,_ she silently replied.


	8. Kiss Me

**Rating:** XXX (sex/swearing)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Everything about this moment was starting to take on a surreal feel. Jocelyn’s mouth on his neck, teeth nipping and tongue lapping; her hands dragging up and down his torso, her nails scraping at him with every pass; her delicious taste still in his mouth and the vision of her breasts in his mind’s eye.

All of the sensations coalesced into an undeniable need in Raphael – an inferno of desire that made him want to taste every inch of her flesh.

Yet a little niggling thought wouldn’t release him, holding him back and keeping his hands still: the thought that this was wrong. Sure, there was the fact that they weren’t the same species – and all the Donatello-esque worries therein – but he found himself realizing that the biggest hurdle was…she was a ballerina.

Gorgeous, graceful, pure; he couldn’t reconcile the vision he’d built of her over the past months with the sensual, needy creature in his lap. It felt so wrong to be doing this sort of thing with her, even though she’d initiated it and was more active than he was right then. Jocelyn, his pure dancer who so often played in starlight, had started a roaring, burning need in him unlike anything he’d felt before. He absolutely ached for more, more aroused than he’d ever been – just keeping his cock inside was a constant struggle.

Normally it was the opposite: getting it out required focus, an intent – pissing, for example. Very rarely did he feel enough desire for it to come out on its own. Right now, though?

Right now, it took all his cumulative years of discipline to _stop_ it. And Jocelyn, it seemed, was determined to wreck all that hard work.

…A huge part of him _wanted_ her to.

 _We started having sex,_ she’d whispered in his ear. She’d dreamt about that. He’d never admit to the same – his pride would never let him – but he’d admit that he’d pleasured himself to thoughts of her. Granted, he’d always felt guilt afterwards, as if he’d dishonored her by doing so…but at the time, in the moment?

It’d been incredible. Yet it still paled in comparison to right here and now.

His mind kept going in circles as she worked him with skillful fingers – mainly because he couldn’t complete a damn thought. He tried thinking of the reasons they couldn’t do this, but he only got as far as _it’s her living room_ , followed by _yeah, but we’re alone_.

Besides, her door was in plain sight. He could always move them to her bed – what reason would he have to stop it then?

Jocelyn’s lips said _none_.

He was helpless, he realized at once. The one to stop this would _not_ be him. He craved her too much to do anything but allow her free reign. So, he decided, he would give _her_ every opportunity to say ‘no’.

He doubted she would at this point, but the point remained. She needed to know exactly what she was in for if they were really going to do this.

She needed to know that he was a _turtle,_ and that extended to his dick, too. She needed to know now, before it could surprise her – because he didn’t think he’d be able to take it if she displayed any disgust over him.

God, if she looked at him with horror, he’d be crushed. He knew it.

With a strength of will he hadn’t known he possessed, he managed to pull her away from him – _and_ keep his eyes from dropping to her exposed flesh. A feat, that. “Jocelyn, wait,” he started.

The heat in her gaze said _no_. Hands on his jaw, she leaned in to kiss him.

Oh, no. If they started with that again he’d never get the words out. He kept a hand between them, against her sternum, to stop her progress. “Just…hang on,” he bit out.

She gave him an annoyed, impatient look – until she noticed how serious he was. Gradually, her expression shifted to concern. “What’s up?” she asked.

God, how could he say this? He had to break it to her easy – just in case she hadn’t put two and two together yet. “Jocelyn, I…I’m a turtle,” he tried. He was trying not to feel embarrassed, but this whole thing made him feel _seriously_ embarrassed.

Confusion scrunched up her features. “Okay?” was her response.

Damn it, she didn’t get it. “I mean…I’m a _turtle_. All of me.” He tried to impress this upon her with a look.

Her hands dropped to his shoulders. “Yeah, I’ve noticed,” she replied, clearly trying to grasp his meaning.

 _Fuck._ How else could he say this without blatantly telling her that his _penis_ wasn’t human? “ _Everything,_ “ he stressed.

And her face blanked to one of exasperation. “Raphael, if you’re trying to say that this includes your _dick,_ yeah, I got that,” she sighed.

Shock held him prisoner for a moment. She _had_ already thought of this? He couldn’t mask his surprise. “You..?” he prompted.

Shifting uneasily – embarrassed, herself – she explained, “I got curious and did some googling on the subject.”

Three weeks. They’d been together for three weeks, and she’d looked up…turtle penises. Readying _herself_ , maybe? Taking the first step so she’d know ahead of time what he’d been trying to tell her now, in the heat of the moment, out of sheer panic?

…Planning ahead?

“…That woulda been nice to know a few minutes ago,” he finally replied, voice rough from mingled lust and stun. He couldn’t figure out how he felt – aggravated that she’d _googled_ the information instead of asking him, relieved that she’d done it so he wouldn’t have to explain, warmed that she now knew what she was in for…and didn’t seem to mind.

Undoubtedly whatever images she’d found would be in the forefront of her mind right now, and yet she betrayed no disgust, no stress, no apprehension. She was calm – well, aside from the glint of excitement still burning in her eyes. She’d seen things, _knew_ things, and was _excited_ for them?

That only served to make _him_ all the more eager to continue “fooling around”, and he couldn’t hold back the pressure in his cloaca anymore. As his penis slid out, the shorts he still wore forcing it to slip around his thigh, entrapped by the waistband, he felt embarrassment flaring back up. But he wanted her – wanted _this_ – too much to control it anymore.

Voice full of wonder, he murmured, “Jocelyn, you…I’m a turtle, but you…”

Her eyes took on a wicked, promising light. “Ask me if I care,” she retorted.

Those words effectively broke down the last of his walls. Pure need surged in him, demanding he get closer to her, that he experience every pleasure she would allow him to with her.

Hands seizing her by the hips, he moved in to kiss her –

She jerked back, saying, “I’m serious, ask me if I care.”

A sudden bout of confusion was the only thing capable of stemming the tide of lust in him, making him reply, “Do you care?” more out of a robotic need to hurry this out than any desire to actually hear the answer.

She smirked. “About what? Be specific,” she prompted.

For a moment he had to struggle to keep himself still. A few minutes ago she’d been _ravenous_ on him – now he felt the same, and she was _teasing_ him? “Do you care that I’m a turtle?” he forced out, unable to keep a snap of impatience from his voice.

Then Jocelyn was grinning. “Yes, I do,” she said simply, and, fuck, what was that _tone?_ Warmth and promise and something deep and heavy suffused her voice and it made his heart clench to hear it.

A coil of heat seemed to thread through his entire body, and when it reached his cock, tingling from base to tip, he yanked her back against him, needing more contact with her luscious body. Before he had the conscious decision to do it, he was kissing her, tongue thrusting into her mouth while his brain tried to comprehend the weight of her words and her hands found his jaw again, holding onto him.

 _Yes, I do_. Such simple words, but the implications were monumental. Was she really saying that…if she’d had a choice…she would pick him as he was over any human man? That if he had another vial of that purple ooze, if he could use it right then and there to become human, _she’d_ be the one to smash it against a wall?

Christ, that was too deep for him to process right now. Besides, who needed to think in this situation? Jocelyn was like pure sunlight in his arms, warm and soft, and she kept petting his cheeks and neck and shoulders in a way that excited him further – like she was playing with his instincts.

In a kind of reply he couldn’t quite control, he found himself doing the same, running his hands over her face and neck. A deeper need in him made him want to bite, as well, but he doubted Jocelyn would appreciate _that_ , so he stopped himself. Whatever that instinct was, anyway, it seemed to be easily placated with kissing.

Against his mouth, she moaned, “Touch me.”

He _was_. Not sure what she wanted, he moved a hand to her back and pet up and down her spine; a soft moan told him she liked it. But he still wanted more, and when she found his other hand and began guiding it down towards her chest, it clicked that she did, too – and as he felt her hard nipple against his palm and the achingly soft flesh around it, he realized exactly what she’d been asking for.

She gave a gasp at the touch – a sudden shock almost made him jerk back, thinking he’d hurt her with his tough skin – and then she arched her back, pressing her breast all the more fully into his hand.

It was already a modest size, but against his large palm it felt _tiny_. If not for the fact that she moaned when he moved his fingers, giving her a tentative stroke, he would’ve thought her too delicate for his touch. He had such a hard time grasping just how soft she was here, making him hesitate to do much of anything.

And yet these light brushes seemed to be doing a number on _both_ of them – coupled with the feel of her tongue against him, it sent thrills through him that made constantly more and more desperate for her, making his heart race. At the same time, every little twitch of his fingers made her jolt in his grasp, letting him know just how sensitive her petite breasts were.

Worse, he could _smell_ her need, and it was growing thicker in a rush.

And Raphael couldn’t help himself; he brought his other hand to her chest to stroke them _both_ , thinking that if her reactions were this strong from touching just one…how would she react if he pet both at once?

As soon as he had them in his grasp, intentionally dragging one finger over both hard nipples, she dropped her head back with a loud, pleased gasp and grasped his wrists, her body undulating to press them harder into his hands. Wonder held him prisoner, watching her with fascination; she gave him a steamy, almost drunk look, only to drop her head back again with a throaty moan when he stroked her once more.

As much as he wanted to drive into her hot body and spend all his cumulative affections there, this sight gripped him stronger, driving him to focus entirely on pleasing her _first_. He had some ideas on what to do – after all, their lair had internet access and it would be impossible for four young men to resist using it to soothe their baser urges – but he knew by now that all women were different.

He hadn’t seen this level of wanton abandonment just from breast fondling in any of the videos he’d watched, after all. Rather than fumble with his inexperience, he’d prefer Jocelyn tell him what she wanted.

He moved his hands to her ribs, giving them both a moment of freedom, saying, “What do you want me to do?”

That was the right thing to say, apparently, because she gave him a decidedly _hungry_ look. She surged forward, seizing his face and kissing him deep, pushing to her knees; forcing him to lean back as far as the couch would allow and lift his chin to hold the kiss.

Then she broke the kiss and for a moment he was staring straight up into her striking green eyes, her hair making a curtain around them both. And she directed him, “Kiss me,” but instead of lowering her head so he could, she straightened her back, once more placing her breasts right in front of him.

A shudder tore through him as it hit him. _With pleasure,_ he thought, taking a moment to imprint the sight into his memory – such gorgeous, tiny, rosy buds greeted him, a little spattering of freckles decorating her shoulders and chest – and then he was upon her, giving one nipple a hard lick before kissing her the way she’d asked (she gave a harsh cry). Immediately, he was struck by how damn good she tasted.

Ah, god, this was going to drive him crazy – though not before her, judging by how she cried out in pleasure. When she gripped his head to her breast, calling out, “Oh, baby!” he had to give his muscles a mental check to keep from crushing her against him.

 _Oh, baby,_ his mind echoed, over and over. A pleased kind of groan escaped him, head swimming from all the heated pleasures they were sharing. His mind kept trying to frantically analyze everything, but never made it very far: _she called me baby,_ her delicious texture on his tongue, her nails biting into his neck under his bandana, _she called me baby,_ the way she took shaky breaths and cried out with every pass of his lips, her shivers making her quiver in his grasp, and _she called me baby!  
_

He couldn’t explain it, but somehow that one word thrilled him almost as much as the feel of her breasts against his lips.

A sudden need to make her completely lose it hit him, and he obeyed without thought. He moved his mouth to her unattended breast, letting a hand continue to fondle the wet flesh he’d abandoned. The next sound she made was louder and deeper than any that came before, a sound of absolute pleasure, giving his ego a shot of confidence. He’d chosen right! He felt like his cock might burst through his shorts any second, but he’d chosen _right_. Tamping down any of his own urges, he forced his actions to work entirely for _her_ benefit despite his body’s craving.

Jocelyn was losing it, he realized – just like he wanted. He could feel it in the way her hips kept undulating, seeking but never finding; how she cried out _oh, my god_ ; how the scent of her need soon overtook all other smells in the room, driving him mad as he did the same for her; how she started muttering broken sentences to him.

“It’s so good, it’s so good – oh, my god, baby, it’s so good – don’t stop –!”

 _Never,_ he promised, giving her breast a sharp suck to punctuate it.

“Oh, god, you’re gonna make me come,” she whimpered. He shuddered at the words, then swapped breasts again, feeling her jolt against him as he did so and absolutely loving it.

He was starting to learn her. He was getting it. The way she liked him to kiss and touch her, when and where he should swap to a suckle and the fact that he should use them sparingly, when to switch between her breasts and when to go to town on them.

Soon she was quivering and begging, “Touch me, touch me,” as she urged one of his hands notably _lower_.

Just knowing where this was going was paining his dick, so eager to venture where his hand was being directed. A part of him wanted to stop, draw back, and give him time to marvel at what he’d wrought – and where he was soon to pleasure his girlfriend. He wanted to look, to _see,_ what was soon to be all his – but it would be cruel to leave her lovely breasts unattended.

So he worked by feel, drawing his hand down her clothed hip to her juncture – and, _god_ it was hot there as his hand cupped her. She shuddered against him, and he couldn’t help but draw back a fraction to gaze at her. The rosy nipples he’d been lavishing were beet red now from his attentions, and when he glanced up, he saw her neck and cheeks were, too. She looked delirious from pleasure, the sight making his cock jolt in his shorts, wanting her all the more.

Eyes dropping to her shorts, he gave them tugs with his hands, pulling them down as far as the waistband would allow with her thighs spread over his lap. They wouldn’t drop far enough to reveal everything, but between his height and his hand slipping between the cloth and her mound, he could see _enough_.

He shuddered to feel her smooth and soft here, too. Two things he knew, thanks to the videos he’d seen in the past: a lot of women were hairless here, and it wasn’t their natural state. A part of him had always felt annoyed by that; if it was natural for a human woman to grow thick hair here, a marker of having reached adulthood, why would they change that? Shouldn’t it be a point of pride for them and a desirable trait for those they wished to attract?

But now that he had his hand on Jocelyn’s smooth flesh, he was granted a whole new understanding – no unshaven woman would ever feel this incredible to touch. Her skin was soft under his fingers, and when he ventured just a little further, she was soaking wet and so hot it stunned him. Another wave of heat suffused him, coalescing in his penis and making it strain anew for her.

“ _Raphael,_ ” she breathed.

He looked up, caught her gaze. She looked…god, she looked _ready_ , he realized, and it made him swallow from nerves, his heart pounding hard. When he stroked a finger over her wet heat, spreading it over his hand, her eyes fluttered closed with a moan.

 _She’s close,_ a voice he couldn’t quite tell was his said; _make her come._

Done deal. Snagging his free arm around her waist, he dipped his head to breasts once more for another show of worship and began stroking her with his hand.

Her reaction was immediate: she began undulating against him, quivering every time he did something just right, her moans starting up again – but this time she was also whimpering every so often, as if she couldn’t handle everything he was doing to her.

That might have alarmed him, except that she was verbally agreeing with him _constantly_. “Ah, yes, baby – like that – oh, my god, you feel so good –”

With her directives, his awareness focused entirely on her, and the videos of sex he’d seen, a great deal began making sense. That little nub of flesh at the head of her pussy was _sensitive_ ; she ground against him every time he touched it. And she _loved_ it when he touched it, prompting him to give it near-constant grinds with his palm.

Suddenly she gripped the edge of his shell, and he could hear her fingers gripping it so hard they both strained. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she repeated in a breathless voice.

And his heart thudded hard, a constant pain settling in his penis from how he’d kept denying it. But he couldn’t resist going just a little step further – she hadn’t directed him, hadn’t asked or given permission, but he’d found her entrance and couldn’t stop himself from exploring it now that he knew she was right there at the edge.

He knew he shouldn’t – his fingers were thick, and even as slick as her wetness had made them, he still had no idea how much her human body could take. Sure, the actresses in the videos had taken _a lot_ (he’d sought out that type of content very specifically) but could Jocelyn?

His finger slipped against her folds, prodding and seeking that hot center he could sink into. And as his finger started to venture inside her, little by little, he knew he’d made the right choice again; she called out a sharp _oh, yes!_

As if impatient with his slow, tentative exploration, she shoved her hips against his hand, taking his thick finger faster than he would have given it. He’d still only gone a knuckle in before she came, crying out her release as her walls began constricting around his digit.

By now he couldn’t focus on her breasts anymore, leaving his face pressed between them as her orgasm _sucked_ on his finger, pulling it ever deeper inside her. The sensation was incredible, overwhelming, and his cock pulsed as if _it_ was the thing being milked by her inner walls, wracking him with shudders – his brain unable to tell the two apart.

As she came, Jocelyn ground against him and undulated, body quivering and voice alternating between moans and whimpers. He couldn’t explain how he managed to hold back from coming, himself, in the face of her persistent pleasure. But soon her quivers were fading and she slid down him in a slump, forcing him to remove his finger from her wet pussy.

Face in his neck, her hot breath fanning over him, she moaned in the aftershocks of her orgasm. “Oh, god, baby,” she murmured, “that was amazing.”

Her praise felt incredible. One hand started absently rubbing her back, the other lifting to his mouth. He couldn’t help inhaling her honey-sweet scent, so clear and heady this close to his nose, before licking at the moisture she’d made for him. It made him shudder, the flavor intense and demanding, sending a sharp pulse of need through his cock.

And then Jocelyn began to recover, drawing back to sit up and meet his gaze. Her eyes were glazed over from her orgasm, the sight affecting him more than he’d ever admit.

She smiled as she said, “Okay…your turn.”

His pulse jolted back to a racing speed, eyes wide as he stared at her, having a hard enough time comprehending this had just happened – but to have her promise more right away?

As he retrieved his finger from his mouth, the only word he could say was, “Okay.”


	9. My Turn

**Rating:** XXX (sex/swearing)

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* * *

* * *

Put simply, that was the best orgasm Jocelyn could remember having. Everything about Raphael had only increased her lust, _constantly_ – he had the most incredible reptilian smell, he tasted divine, the way he’d touched her had been dizzying, and by all that’s holy _his mouth!_

Kissing him had always been a thrill all by itself; between his taste, his firm lips and his tentative eagerness, he usually left her at least a little breathless. But when he put that mouth to work on her breasts, _oh_ that’d been a whole other experience. 

Her breasts, though small, were sensitive. Even her own touch was enough to arouse her, but when others did it, it was like being stroked by lightning. Yet she still hadn’t expected to be as blown away as she’d become. 

The way he’d kissed and sucked at her nipples, each little motion agitating the flaming desire in her stomach, had been mind-blowing. Even when he switched back and forth between them was thrilling; the wetness he left behind allowed in cold chills as well, leaving her nearly mindless from the juxtaposition of it all. 

By the time she’d urged his hand lower she’d already been undone. And he’d pleasured her so well, so thoroughly, she could hardly believe this was his first time with a woman. Granted, he’d been listening – something boys today were often too arrogant to do – and she’d never had qualms about directing. 

But even taking that into account, he’d done amazing. Maybe he’d done some googling, himself, or watched a lot of porn – honestly, who _didn’t?_ Either way, she was damn happy with him right then. 

And ready to return the favor. 

Raphael looked stunned, and she hadn’t missed how he’d been sucking on the finger that had just been inside her. Fuck, that was sexy. 

She kissed him, stroking her tongue against his and getting both his heady flavor and her own in return, before starting her descent. She gave his neck a lick and a nip on the way down – she remembered reading that whilst mating turtles tended to bite, but then so did humans – and he jolted, sucking in a breath. 

Gaze drawn lower, she couldn’t help but look at his lap, eyes snagging on the thick outline of his cock. She bit her lip as she judged the size, thinking _christ, that’s big_ , and _but at least not ‘turtle’ big_. That was good. If _that_ had been proportional to what she’d read, well…there was no way she could possibly get too intimate with a dick that was _half his size_. 

It was more like ‘good for his overall size’ big, and _that_ she could handle. 

Probably. 

She couldn’t wait to give it a try. 

But before she could hop on it, she had to make sure Raphael was comfortable – and used to the sensation. With his strength it was simply logical to avoid giving him sensory overload…and besides which, she still owed him a favor. She intended to pay up. 

Sliding her hands down his plastron, intent clear, she held his gaze as she said, “If you need me to stop, just say so.” 

She could see how tense his was, a mixture of caution and eagerness and arousal. She understood that; neither of them really knew how he was going to react from here on out. He was probably terrified that he might do something and hurt or spook her or humiliate himself. 

Or all three at once. 

“Jocelyn…” he murmured, a plea. 

Unsure whether he wanted more or less at that moment, she stilled her hands. He made a strangled sound – not quite a whimper, but damn close. 

“More?” she checked. She trailed her fingertips left and right, noting how his reactions grew sharper as her touch transitioned from plastron to skin. He took quicker, deeper breaths, the sensations seeming to be doing a number on him.  

His breath hitched, caught – she got the impression he wasn’t used to asking for what he wanted. Honestly, it made her want to tease him, to draw out those elusive words. _Tell me you want my hand on your cock_ , she thought – and the very _idea_ that he might say it was arousing her. 

It made her mouth water. 

Watching him, she let her hands continue their descent, scraping her nails against him as she went and devouring his every reaction. His eyes shot downward to watch, anticipation clear in the flexing muscles of his jaw and neck. His nostrils started flaring as his breaths grew harsher. 

Oh, he wanted this, she deduced. So she gave him the first taste, eyes on him as she let her fingers drift over his erection. He hissed in a breath and shifted, and despite the tight pinch of his shorts she felt it _pulse_ against her touch. 

Heat pooled in her belly – not just from his reaction but from his restraint, how he held himself still and let her have control. Maybe she was growing power-mad, and playing with fire was always a terrible idea, but she suddenly wanted to tease him mercilessly – to not give him what he wanted most, to leave him hovering at the edge and unable to reach it without her approval. 

_Don’t be mean, Jo,_ she chided herself. This was about pleasing _him_ , not her. 

Still, she fully expected to be _pleased_ regardless. She was planning on giving him some proper worship – her nonhuman mutant boyfriend – and _fuck_ if that didn’t arouse her, too. 

She finally glanced down and watched herself work, running her hand over that hard, beating cock with increasing pressure. It only took a few strokes before he groaned, muscles spasming as he fought to stay in place. It was thrilling to watch them jumping in his arms – almost as much so as feeling them shifting under her thighs. 

And she couldn’t stop herself. As she pet his straining cock she leaned in, nibbling at his neck. With a throaty murmur, she said, “I bet I could make you come like this…and I bet you’d love it.” 

He sucked in a sharp breath, hands gripping the couch in a sudden grab. He growled, “ _Jocelyn_ …” 

“What’s wrong, baby?” she intoned, nuzzling against him. “Want more than that?” She punctuated her question with a tight squeeze from base to tip of the hard cock in her grasp. 

He gave a pleasured yell, tossing his head back and bucking under her just enough to make her grab him with her free hand for balance. He settled back again with a shudder, then pinned her with a look so demanding and hungry that it gave her goosebumps. 

_Finish me,_ that look said. 

_Wish granted,_ she sent back with a smile, biting her lip. 

Tugging at the ties of his shorts, she made a little battle plan and it was simple: gradual increases. She could see the caution returning to him as she pulled the string loose – worried about her reaction to seeing him for the first time? Worried but _eager_ , she could tell; he was tense, but he wasn’t stopping her. 

Offering a bit of mercy, she leaned in to kiss at his jaw while she dove her fingers under his waistline. _See, I’m not looking, just feeling,_ she thought. 

Then her exploring digits found it – _him_ – and she grinned. Running her hand over its full size, getting a better grasp for what she was in for, she found it was smooth and slick and just a little moist – not at all like the human equivalent. It was like it just came lubricated standard, promising a smooth ride. Her belly quivered, feeling very empty and demanding…and growing worse the more she touched him. 

And, well, she’d _known_ he had a thick cock – if the googling hadn’t clued her in, just the outline would have done it – but she couldn’t even fit her fingers around it, and not for lack of trying. 

For a moment she was so aroused and fascinated by what she was fondling that she almost missed Raphael’s own reactions: shuddering, gasping, groaning, wracked with spasms – she was surprised he hadn’t come yet. 

She knew he _needed_ to, but apparently he wanted to savor this – or else he wanted her to work for it. Either way, she decided to give him more. After all, now that she’d felt it, she wanted to see it…and taste it. If it was anything like the rest of him, she was going to be addicted. 

Putting both hands to work now, she pulled his erection free – he groaned low – and started stroking him up and down. Each one made him shiver, and she ate up the sight like it was a tasty treat. And then she pulled back, moving out of his lap to kneel on the floor and nudging his thighs apart so she had room to work. 

He looked so startled, like he hadn’t expected her to go this far. Yet the heat of his gaze had multiplied all the same; what he was expecting and what he desperately craved were clearly two different things. 

Jocelyn aimed to close that gap. 

When she reached for his cock again she finally looked down to _see_ it, and she couldn’t decide if she was surprised by what she was seeing. It was dark purple, almost to the point of being totally black, with the lightest pink fade at the base, disappearing into his shorts. And the tip was slanted, like someone had just cut it, the higher point on its other side from her. The sides of that head had the smallest flare to it, turning it into a teardrop. She could barely see the opening in the crown of that dark flesh. 

Definitely similar to what she’d found on turtle anatomy, but still different from what she’d expected – in a good way. And when she ran her hands up and down it, she made a little measurement, using her own arm as comparison. 

_Jesus_ , it was almost the size of her forearm, elbow to wrist! Not as thick as the base of her forearm, thicker than her wrist, and enough to make her equally stressed and aroused at the idea of taking it inside her. If he wanted to, she would definitely give it her best – but if he didn’t, well, it’d be a relief. 

As she looked up at him again, she saw he kept glancing between her face and her petting hands, caution and pleasure battling in his eyes. So she gave him a wicked smile and leaned in, fearlessly giving that wet flesh of his a long, loving lick from base to tip. A deep, loud moan escaped him, like a shot straight to her ego. 

And, _damn it_ , why did he have to taste so good? It had to be a turtle thing. Human cocks, in her opinion, just tasted like salty skin – and smelled unappealing in general. Raphael was way different; his smell brought to mind fresh water and grass and, bizarrely, honey. And his taste echoed it, delighting her taste buds. Granted, he had a bit of that salt flavor as well, but it wasn’t nearly as overpowering. 

She liked it, liked this – liked having his taste on her tongue. She already knew she’d never consider giving him a blow job ‘work’. 

Knowing she’d have a hard time fitting any significant amount of that cock in her mouth, she fit her lips around the shaft and gave it little sucks as she went up and down, stroking the full length with her hands and getting them slick from his natural lubricant. 

“Mmm,” she moaned, enjoying herself. It was pulsing in her hands, teaching her where the muscles were and just how sensitive he was. 

The next time she lifted her gaze to him, he looked…lost. His whole body was wracked with shivers, all his muscles tense, his bright green eyes dark and stuck on her lips as she kissed and sucked at him. She smiled at him. 

_Time to finish this,_ she decided. Going for broke, she angled it down towards her so he could see her next move clearly: she opened her mouth and sucked as much of his cock into her mouth as she could. She didn’t get much farther than the slanted tip and the girth was a tight fit, but it gave her enough to work with. 

He yelled her name and it was music to her ears. Movement caught her eye while she worked him, watching as his hands shot towards her only to get jerked back to him – not trusting himself to touch her but _wanting_ to. It made her feel drunk, knowing how much power she was wielding over him right then. 

She had this muscle-packed mutant with anger issues _completely_ under her thumb. Granted, their roles had been totally reversed a few minutes prior – she’d been putty in his hands, his to tease and pleasure at his leisure, reduced to breathless pleading for more – but that just made the power dynamic between them all the more seductive. 

And it made her ravenous to finish him off. 

Trying to take him deeper was a challenge, but she managed enough to give him some real, strong sucks as she went, stroking him with tongue and hands with increasing pressure the longer he lasted. 

“Jocelyn,” he hissed, voice broken, “s-stop…ya have to…”

She gave him a look that said, _Uh, no, I don’t._ And then he was coming, hands fisting the cushions, giving such a loud, pleasured yell it was almost a howl, and fighting to keep his body in place – he didn’t quite manage it, hips jolting forward enough to make her recoil or get a throat full of cock. 

Pattern recognition made her draw back – semen always tasted horrible to her – but it wasn’t quite fast enough to avoid everything. Jets of his milky white cum lanced her tongue before she’d been able to gain enough distance, and more struck her lips and decorated her naked breasts while she kept milking him with her hands. 

It was as pleasantly warm as she’d expected, but she still sat in stun as she analyzed the taste of it…because, for fuck’s sake, even _that_ tasted amazing. As the last of it fell, Raphael exhaling in shudders with broken groans intersecting them, she found herself drawing her fingers over the seed he’d left on her lips and tasting it for confirmation. 

She shivered, giving a soft moan. Jesus, what the hell was he – to have such a tasty body and even more so _cum?_ Shouldn’t it have worked in reverse? She glanced down at her tits, unable to resist wiping up more of it and licking it off her fingers. She couldn’t explain the flavor, but damn if she didn’t want more. 

She heard him gasp then and looked up, finding him looking at her in wonder, fingers still in her mouth. “Jocelyn,” he breathed, “are you…?” 

Licking up his cum? Hell, yes. She replied with a wicked grin, “Was it good for you?” 

He made a choked sound, like a laugh that died halfway through. “You’re amazing,” he told her. 

“Freely admitted,” she agreed with a flip of her hair. 

With a chuckle he reached down and tugged her up by her arms, pulling her back into his lap. At once she was reminded that she was a mess – his lubricant was on her hands, between her fingers, and his cum still coated a good portion of her chest and chin. She’d have to wash up. 

So when he leaned in to kiss her, she leaned _back_ , saying, “Uh, you sure about that? I _did_ just finish sucking you off–”

He cut her off, jerking her against him with no regard for his fluids on her flesh and giving her such a passionate, thorough kiss it had her mind spinning all over again. She moaned against his mouth, linking her arms around his neck and thinking that she just might be ready for round two…


	10. Till Next Time

**Rating:** R (sexual content/swearing)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Honestly, sometimes Raphael surprised her. As their kissing grew heavier and needier, Jocelyn’s arousal stirring back to life with every stroke of his tongue, she started planning just how she was going to tackle his enormous size –

Until he drew back from her, saying, “Wait, hold on,” and turning his head from her. 

She _hated_ being left bereft, but she could see something was bothering him. That took priority. “Raphael? What’s wrong, baby?” 

He smiled, just a little. To be honest, the first time she said it had been an accident – he’d had her so lost it’d just slipped out. But seeing as he was clearly loving the nickname, she let it keep on slipping; if he liked her to call him ‘baby’ she had no problems doing so. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” he told her, still hesitant. She tilted her head to get a better look at his eyes, curious, and he as soon as he noticed, he focused on her again. “This is gonna…sound weird. Probably. But this…with us…it’s moving really fast, y’know?” 

…Okay, he had a point. Her first thought was to argue, but then, they _had_ only been together for three weeks, and this _was_ his first relationship. So what if she was sitting in his lap right then, topless, with his remains on her tits? 

“I get it,” she agreed with a nod. “So you wanna, what, slow down?” 

His confirmation was hesitant, like he was fighting with his urges to manage it, but he still nodded back. “Yeah…I mean, don’t get me wrong, I want you. I _really_ want you…”

She grinned, shameless. 

He chuckled, shaking his head, then sobered. “But,” he continued more seriously, “I don’t wanna just rush into everything. There’s a lot I’ve never had, and I don’t wanna miss any of it.” 

And it clicked. He was worried that jumping into sex would mean they’ve skipped everything else – dating, romance, girlfriend-boyfriend flirting games, maybe even snuggling and petting and the like. 

“So,” she concluded, “you want, like, the whole girlfriend-boyfriend experience? Not just the sexy stuff, but the cute and corny stuff too?” 

After a hesitant second, he nodded again. 

She inhaled slow, almost a reverse-whistle. “You might regret that,” she told him. 

“What? Why?” he demanded. 

“Well, first off, I predict some difficulties with some of that stuff,” she answered, “but the rest I can totally do…and I don’t think most of it is really your style.” 

“So?” he prompted with a shrug. 

Brows hiked up, she replied, “Oooooookay. You got it, I guess.” 

He noticed her lack of enthusiasm and quickly added, “Besides, you’re not even eighteen yet.” 

She’d been ready to slide off him, but now she snapped her attention back to him. “Ohhhh, no you don’t,” she chided. “Don’t you dare make me wait until November just cause I’m not a _legal_ adult.” 

“It’s the law,” he reminded her. 

“You live outside the law,” she shot back. “I was _this close_ ,” she said, pinching her fingers at him, “to jumping on your dick just now.” As he groaned, slapping his forehead as if envisioning it and trying damn hard not to, she added, “I think I’m old enough to know when I’m consenting to sex, you know, and waiting another six months isn’t gonna make a difference.” 

“Jocelyn,” he whined. 

“ _You’re_ the one who wanted to downshift,” she pointed out. “If anything, you’re the one who’s not ready for sex–”

At that, he gave her a sharp, silencing kind of look. 

And there was another _click_. “Oh, my god, you’re not,” she realized with a kind of dawning horror.  

Obviously embarrassed, he guided her off his lap and got up, taking just a few steps away – but it was enough to tell her he needed space. 

She refused to give it, even as she was hit with a sudden bout of guilt. When she asked to fool around, he’d been hesitant; she’d overridden that, forcing her affections on him. She’d just figured his reluctance had been for her benefit. It hadn’t occurred to her that _he’d_ need a gentle induction into intimacy. 

It made sense now, though, and she felt bad about it. Nodding to herself, she started, “So, remember when I said that if you wanted to stop, just say so?” 

When he didn’t answer, silently giving her his shell, she prompted, “Raphael?” 

“Yeah?” he answered, distant. 

“That’s still valid,” she told him. “I don’t want you to feel pressured just cause _I_ want things. I want you to want ‘em, too.” 

When he still said nothing, she tisked. “Well, I’m not sitting here and talking to your shell all day,” she said, getting up and slipping on her glasses. It took a moment longer to find her discarded shirt, and then she informed him, “I’m gonna go practice. As soon as you’re finished brooding, you’re welcome to join me.” 

He glanced at her just as she was turning away to walk into her room. It took a lot of effort to not look back. He gave her his back; she gave him hers. It was a tiny war of wills. 

Jocelyn washed off first – which, honestly, was kind of sad; if she weren’t in a foul mood she would’ve taken the time to lick everything off her fingers – before putting up her hair and dressing in a leotard. She put on a pair of slippers last, tying the ribbons with slow, deliberate motions. The entire time she got ready her door was wide open, and she could hear Raphael every time he started pacing – or stopped, for that matter. 

And then she got to work. In the exercise room she turned on the radio before starting her warm-ups. She noticed immediately that Miss Dubois had been right: her leg extensions weren’t tip-top. She had marks on the mirror to help her out with self-training, so when she stood right on a taped ‘x’ on the floor, she could see how high her legs could reach. 

Looked like she was two inches off, but the tightness in her inner thighs wouldn’t allow for any greater stretch – even after her warm-ups. Darn, that meant she was behind, which meant she was shirking her responsibilities. If she was going to be Denise she’d need that reach. 

Technically, self-training was frowned upon; it was a potential danger to practice when no experienced guide was there to observe. But after twelve years and a few talks with her Matron, Jocelyn had been allowed to do so – provided she didn’t push herself by any means. As long as she didn’t attempt greater reach, flexibility or jumps than she knew she was capable of handling, she was good. 

She made her flagging extensions her focus for the moment: stretching her legs, massaging the muscles, and always offhandedly listening for any reptilian footsteps. Thanks to the wall-to-wall mirror in front of her, when he finally showed up in the doorway she knew instantly. 

“Anything on your mind?” she invited as she stilled, giving him her attention through their reflections. 

Raphael looked awkward, one hand giving a few nonspecific gestures before he said, “Wanted to apologize.” 

That surprised her. By her count, he had nothing to be sorry for. Turning to face him, she asked, “For what?” 

For a moment he looked as surprised as she did. Figuring this was obvious? He replied, “For turning my back on you. You were tryin’ to talk and I just shut you out.” 

_Ohhh._ Honestly, she hadn’t seen it that way. And it just made her feel all the worse – she’d totally missed (or stomped right over) the way he’d felt earlier, and here he was, apologizing to _her?_ Sure, they’d both enjoyed themselves, but in retrospect she could see that he hadn’t been ready for that level of intimacy. 

She turned off the stereo, then approached him, coming to slide her hands up his arms before resting them on his chest. She bit her lip, awkward herself, and said, “That’s…not really a big deal right now. If anything, _I_ should be apologizing to _you._ I ignored your feelings and…forced myself on you.” And that was hard to say. 

He stared at her, dumbfounded, as if that was something he hadn’t thought of. It looked like that they had vastly different points of view – and she couldn’t quite figure if that was good or bad long-term. 

For now it was good, she supposed. 

Playing it off, he shrugged with a brusque, “Did you hear me complainin’?” 

She gave a laugh. “Well, no, but the truth is still the truth,” she told him. All that hesitation he’d been displaying, all that caution and fear, and she’d just figured it would be fine without checking with him. On the one hand, sure, it was physically impossible to force him to do anything he didn’t want to do – but on the other, it was the principle of the matter. 

He could’ve stopped her anytime. At one point, he had. But that only _implied_ consent; he’d never said “yes”. Assuming he wanted the same thing she did and forcing him to give it was…well, technically…rape. 

Guilt had her head dropping. “I really am sorry,” she said at the floor. “I guess I just figured…all my experience says all guys are always ready to go, so that applied to you, too… I should’ve checked first.” And listened. “I’m sorry,” she finished, gaze on the floor. 

This was his first relationship, she reminded herself again. Adult or not, there was no way he’d be ready to just take her to bed so soon, regardless of what her dreams told her. 

And, god, his feet were so much bigger than hers, she noted. Why did that make her weirdly happy? 

Then he reached down, grabbed her by the thighs, and hefted her up in his arms. She gasped at the change in balance, then gave him an indulgent smile from her new height as she looked down on him. Her legs were spread _damn_ wide to account for how freaking thick he was, and somehow she liked that.  One arm held her aloft; his opposite hand slid up her neck, petting her. 

“Make ya a deal,” he said. “You forgive me, I’ll forgive you.” 

Her laugh was almost pained. “I think my crime was worse,” she pointed out. 

He shrugged. 

By now she was getting the idea that he wasn’t the least bit put off – he was just pretending because it gave him a bargaining chip. She may have forced intimacy on him, but he damn well didn’t regret it. It made her wonder what had been going on in his head at the time. 

Had he been intentionally forcing himself to go at her speed, just to accommodate her? The idea had her heart swelling with renewed affection. 

She leaned in, giving him a sweet kiss. “Deal,” she agreed. “Now you gonna put me down?” 

“No,” he answered, grinning at her. 

She couldn’t help grinning right back, even as she dropped her head to his shoulder with a fake groan. “So I’m trapped here?” she checked. 

“Yep.” His fingers trailed up her spine in a touch so light it made her shiver. 

“I’m your prisoner?” 

“Till I say otherwise.” 

Lifting her head to regard him, she commented with a wicked smile, “Better make it worth my time, then.” 

He matched her smile with a naughty smirk, then drew her down to kiss him. He wasn’t ready for full-on sex, she thought, but he was damn well addicted to kissing. And she was okay with that. 

* * *

Watching Jocelyn practice gave Raphael a deeper perspective on ballet. Her dancing was one thing, a thing that displayed her grace and years of work. But this was everything that went into _that_ : the stretching and repeating certain motions and always watching her reflection with a critical eye. 

She seemed to catch the littlest things, like the alignment of her feet or position of her shoulders in the merest degrees. By comparison, her dances on the rooftop were pure chaos to the uniform, controlled motions she did now. 

And it struck him as being almost identical to fighting. You practiced near-constantly to get everything down to muscle memory and instinct, and you had to trust it to function properly in the heat of battle. Jocelyn’s dancing was extremely similar. 

All this almost mechanical practice led to the fantastic grace she displayed while choreographing her dances. 

As Raphael watched her, his mind wandered. She’d been so obviously guilty earlier it’d actually left _him_ feeling bad. They’d shared something incredible, but something she’d clearly started seeing as villainous on her part. Sure, he’d had near-constant hesitations as they pleasured one another, but she seemed to have gotten it into her head that it meant he’d been unwilling. 

Like _hell_. He’d give – or take – a repeat performance in a heartbeat. 

She hadn’t been wrong when she’d said he wasn’t ready for sex, but she’d confused that with something worse. Besides which, his hesitation was mostly concern for her – he was huge, in more ways than one, and stronger than he’d ever let her know. 

When he held her, he often felt like a single touch could break her. The thought of taking that last step, of having her at the mercy of his powerful body…was terrifying. As much as the idea aroused him, as much as he’d fantasized about it countless times, he just couldn’t imagine doing it – not until he was sure he could control his impulses and she could take what he had to give. 

After all, he hadn’t missed when she’d oh-so-subtly measured her arm against his dick. He’d seen the same thing she had: an impossibility. Shock and reluctance had shown on her face, and only the fact that it was tempered with desire (and that she never ceased pleasuring him) had kept him from stopping her. 

And, _fuck_ , she’d done amazing. Recalling the sight of her as she sucked on his erection, face betraying nothing but desire, was enough to get his engines revving all over again. She’d _loved_ giving him that, had enjoyed herself nearly as much as he had. 

It’d been so hard to hold still while she worked him. Honest to god, he’d never known his dick was that sensitive – he’d been unprepared to handle the echo her touches and kisses had caused in him, every little sensation ricocheting through him in a way his own hand could never have replicated. 

Then to have her swallow his ejaculate, as if she liked the taste…who _was_ this incredible being? There was a reason “swallow” videos were tagged that way – because it was plainly obvious most women didn’t want to. Granted, he’d never gone so far as to taste his own for context, but a few of the videos he’d seen had included women mentioning how salty and gross it tasted. Many women had gagged. 

He’d assumed the same for himself. Evidently Jocelyn didn’t agree. 

The whole event had been mind-blowing. His girlfriend was brazen as hell, passionate, sensitive, and lusted for him – _him!_ It was still hard to comprehend, the knowledge undoing a lifetime of negativity. _Kiss me, touch me,_ she’d begged him. She’d taken everything he’d given without any disgust or hesitation and given him her orgasm in return – and then done the same for him. 

He just wished he’d had the presence of mind to do more than he had. As it was, he’d been so overwhelmed by all the new sensations he’d barely been able to think. A smarter man could’ve laid her back and brought his mouth between her legs, and everything he knew about her said she’d have let him. 

They’d both have liked it, he thought. Recalling her flavor as he’d sucked it off his finger wrought a shiver from him. He could only imagine what it would be like to take his time and devour her, taking her delicious taste right from the source. 

Just thinking about it was starting a pressure inside him, but thinking about it while watching Jocelyn as she spun and displayed just how flexible she was? His muscles bunched and flexed as he fought to keep himself in place. 

He wanted to stalk right over to her, push her down, spread her legs and indulge his fantasies. 

As if that desire had been broadcast loud and clear, she paused to regard his reflection. He saw her look him up and down, but his attention was riveted to her ass at that moment. God, she had a fine body; he’d never really let himself ogle before, and now that he was, he couldn’t deny that her shapely, taut rear could have brought him to his knees. He imagined how it would feel to wrap his fingers around those round cheeks…

 _Fuck_ , she was _perfect_. 

“What are you thinking about?” she asked him, suspicious. 

And he was just distracted enough to answer her honestly, “Eating you out.” 

She blinked at him, lips parting as she stared at him, then pivoted to look at him over her shoulder. Suddenly embarrassed over his crass comment, he looked away, rubbing at his neck. 

With a kind of nervous giggle, she replied, “Careful with that…you know how much I want you. You don’t even need to bother asking for permission; anything you want to do, my answer is ‘yes’.” 

 _Anything?_ he echoed silently, giving her a smoldering look. Because, to be honest, there’s a lot he’d always wanted to try, and if she was down for _anything_ … 

…but he still felt reluctant to dive in too quick. They shouldn’t do too much in one day, partly because he was afraid they’d get addicted. If that happened and they ended up spending all their time together performing sex acts, the rest of their relationship might crumble. 

And he’d rather have her without sex involved than have sex but not _her_. 

He gave himself a shake, both inward and outward. “Think I’ll hold off on that one for now,” he told her. 

Disappointment colored her gaze and she pouted. “Got me all excited, you know,” she commented. 

Oh, he knew. He could smell it – not that he would _ever_ tell her that. “Sorry, but…” he started, then trailed off, unsure how to finish his thought. 

“I know,” she replied, nodding to him. “You know, if you’re bored, you’re welcome to use the equipment,” she added with a gesture at the weight sets and punching bag. 

He glanced over, trying not to scoff when he analyzed the weights he saw. “Wouldn’t be much of a workout,” he told her. “You’ve only got about two-fifty, total.” 

That was pittance for him. 

She looked at the weights, then back at him. “So?” she prompted. 

“So…” He paused, hesitant to reveal just how much he could bench. “My average is over twice that.” In fact it was almost _three times_ more. 

At that, she looked stunned. “Seriously?” 

“Seriously,” he agreed. 

“Well, how much do you usually use?” she demanded. 

He’d been avoiding adding too much lately, so he’d chosen a hi-rep routine with a lower weight set than his max. But he expected her to go nuts if he admitted to it, so he evaded with a shrug. 

“…What’s your record?” she pressed. When he still didn’t answer, she huffed. “You’re not gonna scare me off. I just wanna know.” 

He swallowed, debating answering her, before he finally admitted, “My average is seven hundred.” 

And her jaw dropped. He felt instant regret, worrying that he’d revealed too much – she may have said he wouldn’t scare her away, but that was before she knew just how strong he was. One wrong move, he reminded himself, and he could break her spine. 

If she realized it, too…well, for one thing, he’d never have to worry about sex again. 

She’d never give him the chance. 

And then her eyes lit up and she grinned. “You gotta show me sometime,” she told him. 

He exhaled a harsh breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Sure,” he agreed, nodding. Honestly, that was a relief – and it made him recognize that she hadn’t noticed his weight set in the lair. If she’d seen it then…if her reaction had been the same as it was right now…

Fuck, he would’ve broken his bones just showing off for her hungry gaze. Hell, he was tempted to do it now. Two-fifty wasn’t much, but he could one-arm it for her benefit. What would she do by his hundredth rep, lifting the heavy weight bar over his head with one arm like a dumbbell? 

He was walking over to the weights, contemplating how best to put on a display for her without being too intimidating, when they heard the front door lock turning. They shared a look of mutual disappointment. 

Walking over to him, Jocelyn sighed, “Well, it was fun…” 

He leaned down, giving her a sharp kiss in farewell, then opened the window and slipped out. She closed it after him with such sorrow he was tempted to say _fuck it_ and stay. He should meet his girlfriend’s mother, anyhow. 

He could just imagine it. _Hey, Mrs. Delaghy, I’m Raphael. Nice to meet you. I’m dating your daughter. We were fooling around on your couch while you were at work. I have three turtle brothers and our dad is a rat._

He’d set a whole new precedent for “guys you don’t want your daughter dating”, that’s for sure. After meeting him he’d bet Cecilia would be wishing for a gangster or biker or drug addict. 

Still, he _should_ eventually get an introduction. If Jocelyn could accept him, then by logic, so should her mother. After all, she was raised almost solo by Cecilia. It followed that they’d have similar opinions. 

For now, though, he took the descending sun’s cover and headed home. He probably had some explaining to do – when Jocelyn had taken his hand in the early morning hours and begged him to stay, he’d used his radio to let his brothers know he was staying over with her. 

He just hadn’t explained why. They were bound to be suspicious. He huffed as he slid through the pipes to his home, already envisioning the coming storm and feeling exasperated before it’d even begun.


	11. Brothers

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing)

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* * *

* * *

Raphael figured his brothers would have shit to say – and he’d been right. But they hadn’t expected him to be so calm, apparently, because the exchange was…well, to anyone watching, it would be hilarious. 

His update to let them know he was staying with Jocelyn had been abrupt, after all – he’d done little more than say “I’m staying out, see you tomorrow after dark”. He’d even gone so far as to turn off his radio for a few minutes to drive the point home. By the time he’d flipped it back on, Leo had stopped ranting. 

Now that he was back, Leo was ranting again – albeit carefully, as if he were trying not to trigger Raph’s admittedly short fuse. 

As soon as he was back on his feet, Leo was on him with the tried-and-true mother-hen query: “And where were you all day?” 

“With Jocelyn,” he answered easily. 

A drawn-out _ooooooooooooh_ echoed down to them from Mikey’s alcove with his drum set. 

“Can it, Michelangelo,” Leo snapped. But he needn’t have bothered; Raphael was in too much of a good mood to get mad at such a weak tease. 

Shrugging, Raphael headed to his room, intent on washing his shell – something they all tended to do when they arrived back after taking the slides, just to make sure nothing was stuck to it. 

Leo followed. “You _do_ realize,” he was saying, “you were away all day, apart from us, topside?” 

Raph turned around, walking backwards for a moment with his arms outstretched. “I woulda called if I needed you. And I woulda come back if you needed me. No big deal.” 

For a moment, Leonardo looked perplexed – expecting a backlash that hadn’t come. “…Which is good,” he admitted, “but it was still a big risk.” 

Raph gave him another shrug. “Won’t happen again.” Then he ducked into his room, heading for his personal shower. They all had one in their rooms now, along with a toilet and sink. Leo and Donny’s were walled in with a door and all, but Mikey and Raph’s had yet to get that upgrade. 

Namely because it was hard to find construction supplies in large enough quantities for this kind of work, but also partly because it wasn’t really necessary. 

Leo followed him as far as the inside of the doorway, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “… _Why_ did you stay out with Jo?” he asked, a little more tentative. 

Raph was checking his shell in his mirror as best as he could, looking for any unsightly debris. “She asked me to.” 

At that, Leo gave him a sideways glance. “Wasn’t she dead asleep when you took her home?” 

“Yeah, but she woke up when we made it there,” Raph told him. He unlatched his harness and tossed it on his bed, then grabbed a long-arm scrubber and pointed it at Leo. “If you’re gonna stand there and chew me out, you’re gonna help,” he said. 

He heaved a sigh, but Leo still came over and took the scrubber. The four of them did this a lot, helping each other groom their shells. After eighteen years it was as impersonal an act as a pat on the shoulder. 

Even while working, checking Raph’s shell for anything that shouldn’t be there, Leo was chiding him, “Look, I know you’re dating, and you want to spend time with her, but it worries me when you just don’t come back.” 

“Hey, you asked for a head’s up,” Raph told him, “and I gave it. What more did you want?” 

“How about, ‘I’m staying the night with my girlfriend?’“ 

Though Leo was obviously trying to keep his tone neutral, Raph still heard a measure of jealousy. He hoped he was just hearing things, but the fact was that this information was new to his brothers. They were _all_ going to be jealous, at least a little – especially when it was obvious they all thought Raph had stayed with Jo to have sex with her. 

Worse, it’d nearly happened, too. The reactions he was getting made him just a little more relieved that it hadn’t…even if he _had_ had to fight his own craving for it. 

“At least that way we’d know where you were,” Leo went on. 

“I _didn’t_ say that,” Raph said with a glance over his shoulder, “because I knew how it’d sound. That’s not why I stayed, anyway.” 

There was a pause as Leo took in the information. He ventured, “Then, you didn’t…?” 

And Raph couldn’t mask a look of disgust. “She was _exhausted_ , of course I didn’t!” he snapped. He was appalled that Leo would even suggest otherwise. Then, wrestling his blossoming anger back under control, he explained, “I slept on her floor. We hung out after her mom left for work. She has a Wii,” he informed Leo. “And she made breakfast for me.” And he was still semi-thrilled over that fact. 

He didn’t add “nothing happened” because, well…it’d be a lie. And as much as he was elated it’d happened, he wasn’t about to go bragging about it. In a way, with the relationship still so new, everything was constantly mildly embarrassing. 

Besides, the last thing he wanted was to make his brothers even _more_ envious by admitting his girlfriend of three weeks had been intimate with him. 

“…Ah.” Another pause stretched out, then Leo gave his shell a pat. “It’s clean,” he declared, handing back the scrubber. He started to walk away, then stopped, adding, “Look, I’m still…annoyed that you didn’t tell us when you started dating her. You should’ve been able to trust us. And I won’t lie and pretend like I’m not jealous.” 

And there were the complaints he’d been waiting for. Figuring there was more, though, Raph chose to remain quiet, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

After a second, Leo turned to him fully. “But right now my main concern is safety. Yours and hers. I don’t like you taking risks for her – not now, when we have more enemies than ever before.” 

Raphael nodded, understanding. “Got it.” 

“I’m serious, don’t take this lightly,” Leo warned him. “This is like a fountain filling a pond – the more you spend time with her, the greater the chances her connection to you will be discovered. She won’t get this, so you’ll have to be _doubly_ aware for her, too.” 

Spreading his hands, Raphael pinned him with an exasperated look. “Like I haven’t thought of this? I’m not a child, Leo,” he chided. “I know I’ll have to look out for her, and it’ll only get worse with time. I know it’s a risk for both of us – for _all_ of us,” he corrected, thinking that if he got into trouble it’d undoubtedly spread to his brothers and father. 

Holding Leo’s gaze, Raph finished, “The fact that I’m willing to risk it should tell you how much I want this. So quit sticking your nose in it.” 

Leo absorbed his words, thoughtful – until he added that last line. Then Leo looked upwards as if asking for patience. “Fine. And for what it’s worth…if hanging out with her makes you this easy to deal with,” he quipped, “feel free to keep it up.” 

And, to be honest, that scraped – because it meant his own brothers found Raphael intolerable most of the time. He wanted to throw something, but Leo was gone too quick, his curtained doorway settling as his elder brother strode out. 

Not much longer and he was at Donatello’s little computer alcove. Though he was there specifically to give Jocelyn’s home address (Donny had an alert system set up for all their friends and allies, designed to trigger alarms if any relevant names or addresses were picked up in emergency services), his little brother took the moment to say his piece on Raph’s relationship, too. 

“There, her home address is protected and her name is recognized,” Donny was saying as the system updated. Then he started, tentative, “You know, about Jo…”

“You too, huh?” Raph commented. 

With a shrug, Donny offered, “I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into.” 

_…Aside from a talented dancer with caramel skin?_ Raph thought, then bit his cheek to keep from grinning. “Just…trust me when I say you don’t gotta get into that,” Raph told him. 

Donny kept going anyway. “There’s a lot of differences between us–”

“Gee, never noticed,” Raph intoned. 

Undaunted, Donny went on, “–size, strength, color; we’re almost totally alien compared to humans–”

“Donny. Shut up.” 

“–there’s a lot to take into account, especially considering how young Jo is; she could get spooked easy–”

“She wasn’t.” 

“–so it’s best if you ease her into – wait, what?” he added, sharply. He’d just caught on to what Raph had said, the context telling a great deal. 

That tidbit had been both intentional and carefully chosen; Donny was the only one of the three Raphael would trust with even the smallest bit of this subject. He leaned in and lowered his voice as he explained, “We’ve already done…some stuff. And she wasn’t spooked. So chill out about that.” His phrasing was chosen specifically to be vague. 

He didn’t want to admit he’d literally fooled around with her for the first time _that afternoon_. 

With his thick glasses, Donny’s eyes seemed to swell in size, his jaw falling open in shock. “You’re kidding, right?” he checked after a moment’s stun. 

Raphael shook his head. “Don’t go blabbin’ to anyone,” he warned. “I just wanted you to know it’s cool so you stop _talking about it_ ,” he added in a fierce whisper. 

“…Right. Then I’ll stop talking about it,” Donny agreed, still wearing that dumbfounded expression. And then he switched gears; confusion then curiosity took over. “Wait, what kind of–” 

“No talking about it,” Raph cut him off. 

“But this has potential for–” 

“Hey, my relationship with my girlfriend ain’t an experiment of yours,” Raphael snapped. 

“I should still catalog–”

“ _Catalog what?_ ” Raph growled, giving his little brother a menacing glare. 

Shrinking back, Donny corrected, “Nothing.” 

Withdrawing, Raphael said, “Good. And don’t go badgering Jocelyn for information, either.” 

At that, Donny looked positively disappointed. “Fine, whatever,” he sighed, turning back to his screens. But when Raphael started to leave, he quickly added, “You should talk to Mikey.” 

That had Raph turning back. “Why?” he blurted, perplexed. 

Donny gave him a look that said _you know why_. “He’s been bummed out all day. He’s depressed.” 

Mikey – depressed? “Impossible,” Raph replied. 

“Totally possible. Go talk to him,” Donny pressed. 

Seriously? Raph turned to scan the lair, not finding Mikey anywhere in sight. When he turned back to Donny, he started, “Where–?” 

Donny had already located him through their camera system. “Skate room,” he informed Raph. 

Nodding, Raphael headed that way, hearing Mikey’s board scraping on something as he neared it. In a way, it was weirdly poetic to walk _here_ for this talk – just yesterday he’d done the same with Jo as she’d chosen this room to wait for him. 

“Hey Mikey,” he greeted, “‘sup?” 

At the moment Michelangelo was grinding along a rail, and he kicked off with a bland, “Nuthin’.” 

…Okay, yeah. He was depressed. Raph could tell from that one word; Mikey rarely got sad, but when he did he couldn’t ever just play it off. It was obvious in every word and action. In retrospect, even his teasing ‘oooh’ earlier hadn’t had his usual gusto. 

“Nothin’?” Raph echoed, doubtful. “You don’t wanna lay into me? Leo and Donny already did.” 

“Don’t care,” was Mikey’s forced reply. 

“Right, just like you ‘don’t care’ about pizza,” Raph intoned. 

No response. Mikey circled the room on his board, and when he made to pass Raphael, Raph reached out and snagged his arm, halting him. The board went skidding – and Mikey broke Raph’s hold with a violent gesture. Surprised, Raph watched as he went back for his board and picked up where he left off. 

He’d never once _looked_ at his big brother. 

Okay, this was way worse than Raphael had anticipated. He tried another tactic, realizing he might have to break through a wall – something Mikey’s very nature had never necessitated. 

And he said, “Jeez, Mikey, I never knew you were such a pussy.” 

At that, Mikey snapped his gaze around, glaring at Raph. He kicked his board up and stuck it to his shell, but didn’t approach. He just stared at Raphael from across the room. 

“What do you want from me, huh?” Mikey demanded. 

“A little honesty?” Raph returned. “This is bugging you, don’t lie.” 

“Fine, it’s bugging me,” Mikey admitted. “We done?” 

Trying to brush him off? Raphael had a hard time coming to terms with this version of Mikey – he’d always been so exuberant, so loud and honest and incorrigible and, yeah, kinda dumb. Seeing Mikey pissed and distant threw him for a loop. 

“Not till you tell me why,” Raph told him. 

And Mikey looked away. “You know why.” 

Well, yeah, but it wasn’t enough to have a silent understanding. There were deeper bones to this. So Raph intentionally played dumb, saying, “You’re pissed I got a girlfriend before you.” 

He knew it was partly true, but also knew it wasn’t nearly enough to make Mikey behave like this. And his tactic worked; Mikey shook his head, shoulders dropping. 

“I _liked_ Jo, bro,” Mikey told him – and Raph had the urge to pummel him for admitting it so brazenly. “We coulda worked. She’s a dancer, I’m a dancer; she likes hip hop, I like hip hop…she laughs at my jokes!” he snapped, longing in his voice. 

_No one_ laughed at Mikey’s jokes. It was just how things were. Raphael had noticed that Jocelyn snickered and giggled a lot when Mikey joked, but he hadn’t thought it was enough to make his little brother imagine more with her. Yet apparently it was a vital thing for him – making girls laugh. 

Noted. 

And, Raph admitted painfully, Jocelyn _would_ have made a good match for little Mikey. He could imagine her snuggled in Mikey’s arms, and while the image made his heart wrench, he couldn’t deny that it didn’t look…bad. They would’ve had a lot of fun together, and she might even have found his dimwitted nature adorable. 

In fact, he noticed how she’d patiently explained things to Mikey, never getting irritated or exasperated the way Raph usually did. Even Donny had limited patience with him, and Leo would occasionally just tell Mikey to shut up. 

She would’ve been good for Mikey. 

And the more he thought about it, the more Raphael realized she ‘fit’ with all of his brothers better than she did with _him_. It was a sobering, terrifying realization – the fact that she would find Donny’s intelligence and dorky awkwardness attractive, that Mikey’s incorrigible flirting and terrible jokes would come off as charming, and even Leo’s discipline and order would appeal to her (she _did_ seem to have an obsession with it). 

And what did Raph have? Anger issues and brutal clumsiness. Jo was his exact opposite, calm and graceful. What the hell was she doing with _him_ when she had so many other options? 

“…And she’s with you,” Mikey was saying now, despondent. 

He probably didn’t realize it, but Mikey had just said what Raphael needed to hear right then. Sighing, Raph sat down and rubbed his neck, a weight settling on his shell that hadn’t been there when he’d made it back an hour ago. 

Jocelyn had chosen him, he reminded himself. She’d met them all, been friendly with them all, and had still chosen Raphael over the others. He kept that in mind as he waved Mikey over. 

“Look, come here,” he started. When Mikey did so, taking a seat beside him, Raphael said, “I’m sorry…this is my fault. I should’ve at least introduced her as my girlfriend when I brought her here.” 

Mikey scowled at the floor, snipping, “You think?” 

Raph almost hit him out of reflex, arm cocking back in preparation – he forced it back down. “Look, I get it. I messed up and it got you thinking you had a shot. That’s on me. And I _am_ sorry about that,” he insisted. 

Mikey gave him a look, a measure of pain in his gaze that had Raph feeling even worse. 

“…But I get the feeling there’s more to this,” Raph went on. “So what’s the deal?” 

And Mikey hesitated. Mikey _never_ hesitated; he had the worst habit of saying whatever was in his head or doing whatever he wanted the moment it hit him. He was like a toddler like that. 

Which is why Raphael knew this went _deep_. 

Looking away, Mikey sighed, then began, “I’m just…lonely.” 

Raph knew better than to point out that five of them lived here and they’d gained several close friends over the last three years. It was obvious that Mikey wasn’t lonely for friendship – he craved the kind of affection you couldn’t get from family. He wanted…he _needed_ …someone he could hug and kiss and cuddle against him all hours of the day. 

“And me getting with Jocelyn made it worse,” Raphael concluded. 

Mikey nodded, long and slow. 

Raph paused before going on, “Do you know what Dad said to me when I told him about me and Jocelyn? ‘What’s true for one is true for all,’“ he quoted. When Mikey glanced at him, confused, Raphael explained, “If I can get a girlfriend, so can you. Just cause you haven’t met her yet doesn’t mean she’s not out there.” 

Muttering, Mikey replied, “She’s sure good at playing Hide And Seek…” 

That pulled a dry chuckle out of Raphael. “Look, the point is this isn’t permanent. Dad says romance is ‘inevitable’. Besides, just cause you like Jocelyn doesn’t mean she’s right for you. Someday you’re gonna find a girl who fits you way better and you’re gonna feel silly for focusing on Jocelyn at all.” 

And Mikey gave a pathetic little, “Maybe…” 

“Mikey, seriously,” Raph told him with a nudge, “it’ll get better. I swear.” 

Then Mikey looked up, and though his expression wasn’t much different, his voice was more chipper as he blurted, “Why do you always call her _Jocelyn?_ ” _  
_

Raph shrugged. “I like it better than ‘Jo’.” 

“Whaaat?” Mikey returned, shocked. “’Jo’ is _way_ cuter!” 

At that, Raph gave him a scowl. “So _that’s_ why you keep calling her Jo? Cause it’s _cute?_ ” he snapped. 

And Mikey’s survival instincts made him jump up and gain distance. It was hard for Raphael to keep from following him, forcing himself to remain seated. 

Hands up, Mikey said, “Hey, she invited us to use it! I’m totally innocent!” 

Well, there went his good mood. Glaring, Raph warned him, “In the future, do _not_ tell me how cute Jocelyn is. Got it?” 

“Got it.” 

“Good. Now chill out, I ain’t gonna hit you,” Raph told him. 

“Think I’ll stay over here anyway,” Mikey said from several steps away. 

Eh, good enough. “So,” Raph ventured, “we good?” 

Mikey glanced down, as if weighing his thoughts, before nodding. “Yeah, we’re good. But can I ask you something?” 

“If it’s about my relationship, probably not.” 

“Not exactly…more like…well, having a girlfriend?” Mikey explained, tentative. “It’s…it’s nice, right?” 

Thinking back to all the embraces and kissing he’d shared with Jocelyn, Raphael had to agree. It was still just a little embarrassing, though, so he stared at his feet as he answered with a smile, “Yeah, Mikey. It’s nice.” 

And Mikey looked down, hope and despair warring on his face. Quiet, he asked, “So, Raph…help a brother out and share deets?” 

With a loud snort, Raphael replied, “ _Fuck_ no!”


	12. Party Night

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing)

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* * *

The moment school was out, Jocelyn went out with several friends to celebrate. They compared final scores and yearbooks, pointing out how many signatures they’d received and from whom. Ice cream and laughter were had. 

Later in the evening she cut out, intent on meeting Raphael as soon as the sun was gone from sight. She fussed in her room, trying to decide how she wanted to style her hair – if at all. They’d planned this and she wanted to have fun with it, so she put in a little more effort than usual. 

By the time she finished she was _extremely_ pleased with the results. [  
](https://78.media.tumblr.com/49935ee212212960a4ea077778d76ce1/tumblr_oyehhhBrfv1wtuqpio1_1280.png)

Heading out, she grabbed her – purse-slash-backpack? She never knew what to call it – and waved at her mother. “See ya later, Mom.” 

In the living room, Cecilia looked over, in the middle of an episode of _Desperate Housewives_. “Where are you going?” she asked. 

“Cassie’s. I might stay the night,” Jocelyn informed her. 

Cecilia looked suspicious but didn’t stop her. 

Outside, she went for the subway instead of Cassie’s – completely opposite directions. It didn’t cross her mind to look up and make sure her mother wasn’t watching her leave. 

In the subway, she waited for a lull in activity and then went off the platform, hugging a wall. She saw Raphael waiting for her in the shadows, leaning against a wall with one foot propped against it. He was fiddling with his sai, idly twisting them about. 

He heard her coming before she could even call out to him, head snapping up in her direction. 

And when Raphael **[got a look at her](https://78.media.tumblr.com/b62d8a2d17630a89d762cee254befaaf/tumblr_p2j2mvyuEz1wtuqpio5_1280.png)** , he looked stunned. She couldn’t help grinning at him. Aside from dressing all in black, picking heels for the night, and leaving her curls mostly loose, she was also wearing a little makeup: lipstick, mascara and eyeliner for effect. 

Eyes wide, he looked entranced. 

As soon as she reached him she lifted her hands, linking them around his neck and giving him an inviting smile. He leaned in like he just couldn’t resist, giving her a kiss as his arms wound around her. 

The lipstick she’d chosen boasted it was smudge-proof. By the end of the night she intended to put it through a high-stress test, a mischievous bone in her _demanding_ she get it stuck to Raphael…one way or another. 

When she pulled back she didn’t see any transfer on him, but she comforted herself with the thought that they still had time. 

“Miss me?” she teased. 

He tsked. “You know I did.” 

Lowering her voice, she murmured, “Me, too.” 

He smiled, gazing at her with affection. They didn’t _need_ to say they’d missed each other, but she liked hearing it – as did Raphael. 

“Come on,” he said, taking her hand and leading her. She knew this route by now – this was her fourth time walking it – but she still enjoyed him guiding her. Something about him holding her hand and helping her over obstacles just made her so damn happy. 

They only took this particular route because she disliked the waterslide. As it was a walking path it took a long time, but that meant they had time to chat and catch up. She liked hearing him talk about his brothers, what they’d been up to, and what adventures they’d had since she’d seen them last. She even liked his sarcastic quips and irritated rants when he spoke about things that had angered him. 

In turn, he seemed to like her stories – though granted hers weren’t nearly as interesting. Maybe it was the ordinary nature of them, but he never looked bored; she suspected he liked the glimpses of an average human’s life through her stories. It was as close as he’d ever get to attending high school himself. 

Shortly into it, though, he glanced down and noticed her shoes. Shocked, he blurted, “You’re wearing high heels?” 

She looked at them out of reflex, then back at Raphael, confused. “Uh, yeah? What’s wrong with that?” 

He gestured ahead of them. “We’re in the sewers–”

“I noticed,” she deadpanned. 

He ignored that. “–and it’s not exactly built for pedestrians. You could trip,” he told her. 

Her expression blanked. She couldn’t help it. It took a second but he caught on, shaking his head as though chiding himself. 

“I’m a ballerina,” she intoned. “I dance primarily _on my toes_. I think I can manage high heels on occasion.” 

Awkward, he shifted in place. 

And then she realized he’d just been showing her concern and felt bad for mocking that. Sighing, she said, “Look, I’m sorry. I get that you’re worried but you _really_ don’t need to be. But…if it makes you feel better, I could let you carry me,” she offered with a more upbeat tone, opening her arms and grinning at him. 

He laughed. And then he did it, hoisting her up in his arms like she weighed nothing and making her giggle as he did so. 

“I wasn’t expecting you to do it!” she chuckled with a playful slap on his chest. 

He shrugged – the action giving her a little jolt – and teased, “Gotta make sure my dancer gives her feet some proper rest.” 

Though she doubted he’d intended it, that was incredibly sweet. It started a warm spread in her heart. The smile she gave him felt…loving. And he noticed, all mischief draining from him. 

“Thanks,” was her quiet, emotion-rich reply. Even _she_ could hear the affection, the depth, in her voice right then. 

And, as if drawn by a force too powerful to resist, he leaned in, kissing her with such a gentle pressure she could physically feel herself falling for him. With how often they made out, passions running so hot it made her quiver with desire, having moments like this reminded her that he didn’t just _want_ her. 

He _adored_ her. 

It was enough to make a cynical girl like her feel…in love. 

In the past, she’d always viewed boys as fun and little more. She could confidently say she’d never been in love, that all of her exes had been just like little games for her. Unlike other girls her age, she’d never even _tried_ to look for love – her eyes had always sought out the fun boys, not the affectionate ones. She’d accepted their desires yet had never been swayed by them. But this was different. 

This was _real_ in a way she couldn’t explain. Raphael was more than just another guy, and maybe that was why she hadn’t jumped on him sooner; she’d had the desire to touch and kiss him for a few weeks before she’d done it. Yet she’d held back – for the passionate, impulsive kind of girl she was, that was rare. 

As if some piece of her had known where this would go, what it would mean to her; that this was bigger than anything she’d had before. 

His appearance had never been a barrier…but his sensitivity had. It hadn’t been hard to tell that he’d liked her from the beginning, even if he hadn’t realized it himself. He’d wanted more of her. Maybe it was because he was crushing on her that she’d chosen not to act, knowing without a doubt that her very nature could end up hurting him. 

And she hadn’t wanted to hurt him. She hadn’t wanted to be the first to date and dump him, hadn’t wanted to leave him behind. She didn’t want to be the name he cursed later in life, hating her for stepping on his heart after he’d given it. She didn’t want to be ‘that girl’. 

Because…honestly…she liked him. From the first few words they’d exchanged onward, she’d liked him. She could see his heart behind his eyes, the depth of emotion he always tried to keep hidden. It’d drawn her in, both a temptation and warning – making her want more with him yet warning her that there would be pain if it ended badly. 

So she’d waited until she’d known, without a doubt, that they _both_ wanted more than a fling. She’d waited until she couldn’t wait any longer, craving a relationship with him so much she’d trusted him to be in her room with her – alone. 

And now as he ended the kiss – ended, not broke, because he hadn’t withdrawn even the slightest, leaving their noses brushing – she was struck by the weight of this moment, of how tightly they’d bonded. 

A thousand years could pass and she still wouldn’t be tired of him. And, to be honest, that kind of certainty – that level of devotion – was a little terrifying for her. She knew it then: she was lost. 

She was _in love_. 

* * *

It was hard, after that, to hide the surge of emotion in Jocelyn. Lucky for her, then, that Raphael was _really_ fun to tease. It didn’t take too long for her mischievous streak to return, leading her to scratch his shell (he jolted and shuddered _every time_ ), nip his neck, and generally be a sexy nuisance. 

After a while he got revenge – by holding her tighter against him and taking off in a run. She hated not having her feet on the ground, and more so when things were moving fast; the only exception to this was her motorcycle – technically her father’s – which she was still learning to drive. 

So she had little choice but to hang on for her life, unable to help a shriek every time he jumped off something, twisted or flipped in the air. After a few minutes of _that_ she was begging for mercy. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she blurted, eyes closed tight and face buried in his shoulder. “I’ll behave, I swear!” 

He stopped. When she looked up, wincing and shivering from caution, she saw he was _grinning_ like a damn cat. He looked so pleased with himself. 

Her fear immediately turned into anger, making her shove at him. “You jerk!” she snapped. “That was low.” Turning her head from him, she crossed her arms and pouted. 

He didn’t respond. After a few seconds she was just curious enough to glance at him from the corner of her eye –

 _He was still grinning!_

And she wanted to feel indignant, irritated, _something_ – but instead she found herself grinning, too. She struggled to fight it, physically covering her mouth and then kicking her legs when that did nothing to help. He chuckled at her. 

Changing tactics, she tried to wriggle out of his arms; he let her go only far enough to free one hand, his other still holding her against him, effectively going from holding her to having her sit on his forearm. And then he pulled her chin up and kissed her. 

Her struggles stopped instantly – then kicked back up when she realized what he was up to. Pulling back as far as she could with his arm banded around her, she started, “Oh, no you don’t–” 

Ignoring her, he kissed her again, giving her neck a tug to bring her back in. 

She withdrew again, but only got out a single syllable before his tongue invaded her mouth. 

And she gave up. _You win,_ she thought, unable to help a moan as his flavor coated her tongue. Her arms linked around his neck, pulling her closer to him. But, honestly, if he kept this up they were never going to make it to the lair. 

A few more seconds of this sensual exploration would end with her demanding he get down on his knees and give her more. 

With the way things had been recently, she’d bet he would do it, too. 

As if he’d heard her thoughts his kiss grew fiercer, making her whimper and dig her nails into his skin. It only lasted a moment, and then he jerked his head back, breaking the kiss with a loud _smack_ – and she freaking _whined_ , her arms doing absolutely nothing to stop his retreat. 

Another pout scrunched her features, half glaring at him for getting her so aroused only to leave her cold. But from the way he was gazing at her, he hadn’t wanted to stop any more than she had. 

She had to remind herself that they had a full-on party awaiting their arrival. Sighing, she said, “I guess we _both_ need to learn how to behave.” 

“Behave?” he echoed. Smirking, he asked, “Where’s the fun in that?” 

And she smiled back, saying, “Oh, so true. I’d take you being naughty over nice _any_ day.” 

He grinned at her, then sobered and set her back on her feet. After having been carried for so long, it felt a little weird to be standing again. She fluffed her hair back then held out her hand, expectant. 

Raphael took it, and she caught some deep emotion in his eye as he looked at their clasped hands. Knowing he’d just get embarrassed if he knew she’d caught that, she looked away, letting him take the lead again. 

As it turned out, they were pretty damn close to their destination now. All that running Raphael had done had closed the gap in a fraction of the time it’d have taken to walk the same distance. 

She refused to feel grateful about that. 

The brothers were lounging the kitchen area when they arrived, and Jocelyn hopped up the trio of steps in one bound as they greeted her. As Raphael trailed after her, she slid off her purse-pack and lifted it up, declaring, “I come bearing gifts.” 

That got their attention on the bag, expressions flowing between curiosity and suspicion. 

When Raphael stopped right behind her, looking over her shoulder as she pulled open the strings, she paused to give him a shove towards the others. “That includes you, too,” she told him. 

They exchanged glances with him; Raphael shrugged. She hadn’t told him anything about this on purpose. 

Inside were five little packs of homemade cookies, tailored to (what she guessed was) their differing palates. Each little batch was in a clear plastic wrap, tied with a string in their colors: red, blue, orange, violet, and yellow for Splinter. 

She glanced around for a moment, then asked the guys, “Where’s Splinter?” 

“You included Dad?” Raphael asked, obviously touched. 

Meeting his gaze, she smiled. “Of course I did. He’s part of your family, right?” 

She caught Donny grinning at that from the corner of her eye. 

From behind her a voice drifted over. “Right here, dear.” 

She jolted, then huffed, looking over her shoulder with a withering glare. “You need to not sneak up on me,” she commented as Splinter strode around her to join the others. 

He chuckled, then gave her a little bow. “My apologies. I will endeavor to not do so any longer.” 

“Alright, I believe you,” she told him, setting the bag down to dig into it. The first bag she retrieved was Donny’s, so she held it out to him, saying, “Donatello.” 

As he took it, Mikey perked up. “I smell cookies,” he declared. 

She couldn’t help a disappointed chuckle. “Way to ruin the surprise,” she quipped. 

He winced. “Sorry.” 

The next one she pulled out was his, and she offered it with a smile. “Michelangelo.” 

He eagerly snatched it from her hand, delighted. 

The others followed suit: “Splinter,” “Raphael,” “Leonardo.” Once they had their parcels and opened them, she saw mild surprise on each of them. 

All the cookies were different flavors. Honestly, that’d been easy – she’d made a basic batch and then split it into five separate portions, flavoring each one based on what she guessed they’d like. And they realized this before they’d even taken a bite of any of them, leading her to realize something: they had strong noses. 

All of them. 

Which meant she had something to talk to her boyfriend about in the near future…

Raphael was the first to take a bite, already well aware that her cooking skills were above average (thanks, Dad!), but the rest were a little more hesitant. 

He fixed her with a delighted smile, commenting, “Strawberry.” When she grinned at him, he asked, “How’d you know I like strawberries?” 

She cocked a brow at him. “Remember the time you asked if I had strawberry syrup?” 

“…Right,” he nodded. 

Then Mikey whimpered, two of his cookies missing already – they each only had six – in the middle of chewing. He got chocolate chip because, honestly, you just couldn’t improve on a classic. 

And he looked so swayed, she gave him a warm smile. “You look like you want a hug,” she noted. 

He glanced up at her, surprised, then over at Raphael and back. 

“Do you want a hug, Mikey?” she asked. When he nodded, she stepped away from the table and opened her arms. 

Raphael sent him a look of warning, but Mikey was already darting over to her. He all but collided with her, arms banding around her back as her own clasped around his neck. The embrace was tight and strong but warm and affectionate, and she could almost swear Mikey was vibrating from joy. 

She chuckled, delighted that he was so happy. It’s what she’d been intending with these gifts, after all. 

But when the hug dragged on for a whole five seconds, Raphael cleared his throat in a none-too-subtle way. Mikey jerked back from her as if he’d been branded, even as he grinned at her. 

“Thanks,” he told her, “no one’s ever just made us cookies before.” 

Her jaw dropped in stun. “No one? What kind of unfair world is this?” she wondered, partly putting on airs for fun. 

She _was_ surprised by that fact, though. Raphael had mentioned how many people they’d saved over the last few years, and yeah, some had run for cover – but many had been grateful and even offered rewards. Surely someone should have given cookies! 

Waving a hand, she brushed it off, declaring, “Well, I’ll just have to right that wrong, now won’t I?” 

While this exchange happened, Donny and Leo commented theirs to one another: Donny had peanut butter, Leo had mint-chip. 

Splinter’s had been the hardest for her to nail down. Eventually she’d gone with green tea, though she’d had to look up a recipe for it. The mixture had dyed his portion bright green to match. 

Everyone looked happy with their batches. It made her feel good about herself – and maybe just a little arrogant. 

Okay, a lot arrogant. She kind of had a problem with her ego in certain subjects, and cooking was one of them. 

“Well?” she prompted as they devoured their personalized treats. “Comments, critiques? If I messed up anywhere I kinda need to be told.” 

Shaking his head, Leo was the first to speak up. “It’s great, Jo,” he told her. “Thank you.” 

Donny had his mouth full at the moment and covered it with his hand, talking around the cookie, “‘Uhv ‘ah ‘eenuh ‘uu’er.” 

Raphael laughed. “He says he likes the peanut butter,” he translated for her. 

Nodding, Donny swallowed and gave her a little bow. “Thank you.” 

Splinter was next, admiring the last of his cookies in his hand. “I believe I speak for all of us,” he started, “when I say we’re very touched by your thoughtfulness. And, to be frank, I love my cookies,” he added with a smile. 

He’d always looked more bizarre than the turtles to her, but right then, with that smile, she could see the father in him. It caused a rush of conflicting emotions in her: sorrow over her deceased father; warmth from the acceptance he displayed; pride in the praise given; and heartache from…she didn’t even know what. 

But at that moment, she felt at home in this place with five mutants around her…and it was a little frightening to her.


	13. Everything

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Not long after they arrived, so did April. She drove into the lair via the main exit while Raphael and Jocelyn were lounging on the couch, half watching the TV and half just talking, lost in their own world. 

As April’s little yellow Camry turned off, she stepped out and called out, “Special delivery!” 

Which meant she’d been shopping…which also meant Raphael had to be a grown-up and help unload the loot instead of cuddle with his girlfriend. With a sigh he hefted himself up, giving Jocelyn a what-can-ya-do shrug when she whined and dramatically fell over from the lack of his support. 

A chorus of “April!” rang out as the guys converged, taking turns hugging the brunette, and Raphael held out a hand to help up Jocelyn. 

“Wanna meet our big sister?” he asked. 

She smiled. “Only if she’s as cute as you,” she said with a wink, taking his hand. 

Cute? It was a good thing he couldn’t blush – he totally would’ve been right then. He pulled her up, then headed over to the car. The trunk had already been popped and Mikey was heading to the kitchen with handfuls of plastic bags. 

The brothers fell into a routine as soon as he joined them, making a little chain at first which turned into Donny and Leo putting everything away while Mikey and Raph bused over the rest of the loot. 

And Raph may or may not have been sending Jocelyn glances the whole time, hoping she was watching. Their teamwork was so tight by now that when a box of cereal tumbled out of Leo’s grasp, Donny caught it with hardly an effort. Hell, if they wanted to they could’ve _thrown_ everything one by one into its proper place from the car and never have missed. 

And a part of Raphael wanted to impress his girlfriend – _constantly_. 

When the two ladies met, he paid attention – mostly because he couldn’t help it. He wanted them to get along…and, to be honest, he wanted April to approve of Jocelyn. He didn’t know what he’d do if they ended up on opposing sides of a boxing ring. 

As they approached each other, April was the first to speak. “So you’re the elusive Jocelyn I keep hearing about?” she asked, offering her hand. 

Jocelyn replied, shaking her hand, “Just a guess from how the guys screamed out ‘April’, but I take it that’s you?” 

They smiled at each other and Raphael exhaled with relief. And, he noticed, Jocelyn was almost a full head taller than April. Five-four versus five-nine was a pretty big difference, bringing April’s brunette head barely up to Jocelyn’s nose. 

Then April blinked, pausing, and said, “Wait, I remember you!” 

Jocelyn looked as surprised as Raphael felt. “You do? Oh – hang on, April _O’neil_ ,” she realized. “From Channel 6. I totally didn’t realize they were talking about _you_ this whole time.” 

“You know each other?” Raph cut in. 

Looking over at him, Jocelyn gestured April. “She interviewed me, last year.” 

“Really? For what?” he asked, surprised. 

When Jocelyn shifted, awkward, April explained, “There was a protest at her school. Jocelyn was the spokesperson for the group.” 

He couldn’t help giving her an impressed look. “A protest, huh?” 

She bit her lip. 

April chuckled. “Nearly the whole school stormed the principal’s office with a list of demands,” she told Raphael. “Apparently Jocelyn started it.” 

“ _Vive la révolution_ ,” Jocelyn quipped. 

Mikey had joined them, asking, “You speak Spanish?” 

“French,” Jocelyn corrected. “I mean yeah, a little – I have a few Spanish friends who love to give lessons, but that was French.” 

“So you know French?” he asked, confused. 

“Well, no – only as much as my ballet instructor uses,” she told him. “Look, I’m not fluent in any language except English, and even that’s kind of bad,” she chuckled. “Suffice to say I know a few phrases and that’s not the same thing.” 

With the last of the groceries put away, Donny and Leo joined them, curious. 

“What’s this about a protest?” Leo asked. 

April helpfully offered, “It’s probably in the Channel 6 archives.” 

And Jocelyn panicked, giving negative gestures. “No – no, we really don’t have to do that.” She was embarrassed, and honestly, it was adorable. 

“Now I _really_ wanna see it,” Mikey commented. 

Raph punched his arm. “Leave her alone.” 

“Guys,” Leo warned, a note of steel to his tone. 

“How about you just tell us?” Donny asked Jocelyn. “Then we won’t have to look up the video.” 

She heaved a sigh. “Okay. It started with my history teacher declaring we’d have an end-of-semester project worth half our grade,” she explained. “I always thought that was unfair, so I’ve always refused to do it. He was the third teacher to do that that semester,” she said, annoyed. 

She hesitated a second, then went on, “I was pretty pissed off, so I just stood up and told him I refuse. He said something like, ‘It’s only eight pages, and I’m giving you a month to complete it.’ I said it didn’t matter, it was principle of the thing – giving us a project worth fifty percent of the grade means it’s worth every other assignment and test we’ve done that semester, and that’s stupid. Why the fuck did I bother turning in everything when I could’ve turned in like three assignments and the final and still have passed?” she demanded, irritated. 

It was the first time Raph had heard her curse. A part of him found it…hot. 

“Bet that went over well,” Donny noted. 

“He sent me to the office,” Jocelyn agreed with a nod. “But before I left I invited the rest of the class to join me – if they thought it was unfair, too. And they did,” she said with a stunned laugh. “Everybody in the class got up and followed me. Then someone went into another class and told them what we were doing. Word spread and suddenly the whole school was with us.” 

April was smiling, obviously liking this story – and that she’d covered it. But Leo was suspicious. “The whole school, over a final project?” he checked. 

“Well, at first, yeah,” Jocelyn explained, “but then everybody started talking about other stuff they thought was unfair. Like they’re trying to prepare us for life, yet we have to ask permission to use the bathroom, and they never teach us to write a resume or do our taxes, yet they force us to learn world history and geometry when most of us are never gonna use it. And don’t get me started on the dress codes – girls can’t wear spaghetti strap shirts but boys can wear speedos in the pool!” 

April chimed in with, “And someone made a list of demands.” 

Laughing, Jocelyn nodded. “Yep. I have no idea who did it, but someone handed over this… _really_ well-scripted list. Someone good with calligraphy, I guess. Then me and five other kids walked into the principal’s office – she was waiting for us by then – and handed over the list.” 

“Nobody tried to stop you?” Raphael wondered. 

“Of course they did, the teachers were yelling at us to go back to our classes,” she told him. “But what are they gonna do? We outnumbered them thirty-to-one. They even called the police, but we claimed peaceful protest. The cops couldn’t do anything.” 

Then April added, “And Channel 6 was called to the scene.” Her eyes were warm as she smiled at Jocelyn. 

“What did your mom think about this?” Raphael asked her. 

And Jocelyn grinned. “She was proud. One of her personal mottos is, ‘You have a voice, use it.’ She’s always encouraged me to speak up. About a week later her and a bunch of other parents had a meeting with the principal. Apparently the region superintendent got involved.” 

Fascinated, Donny asked, “Did anything change?” 

“Not much,” she admitted with a grimace. “Some policies got loosened up, nothing big. But they _did_ make it a rule that teachers couldn’t do a half-your-grade project anymore. And Mom managed to get them to alter my permanent record,” she added with admiration. “They retroactively had me pass all the classes I’d failed because of refusals to do those kinds of projects.” 

“How many was that?” 

“Nine,” she answered. “Would’ve been twelve that semester, but those teachers couldn’t impose those projects anymore, so…” 

“How’d your mother manage that?” Leo asked, wavering between being impressed and doubtful. 

She shrugged. “She’s studying to be a lawyer. I think she argued that all the classes I’d failed in this manner were a form of protest, which is my right as an American citizen. Mom can be…pretty scary sometimes. She’s tiny, but she’s got balls of steel.” 

Mikey and Raph both laughed at the comment. Mikey added, “Hah, you said ‘balls’.” 

Snorting, Jocelyn nodded. “Yeah…yeah, I did.” 

Now that the story was over, though, Raphael tilted his head at her. “Why didn’t you ever tell me _that_ story?” he asked. 

She glanced away, cheeks darkening. “Cause it’s kind of embarrassing.” 

“It’s pretty impressive,” he told her. 

“Not compared to _your_ stories,” she countered. 

Gesturing his brothers, Raphael argued, “ _We’ve_ never united a whole school.” 

Her blush darkened. “You saved the whole _city_ more than once,” she pointed out. 

“And technically the world,” Donny added. 

Ignoring that, Raphael shot back, “Fighting is easy. Unifying is way harder.” 

For a second she looked stunned, admiring him – and damn if that didn’t feel good. But then she retorted, “You’ve obviously never heard of mob mentality. You have any idea how easy it is to fall into a mob and just do what everyone else is doing?” 

“You started the mob,” he returned. 

Unable to argue that, she chewed her lip, looking down. And he saw her start to smile. 

Taking pity on her, April shooed the guys back. “Alright, talk over. Wasn’t this supposed to be a party?” she quipped. 

The subject dropped and the fun began…and Jocelyn looked relieved. 

Raphael had the sudden thought that teasing her was a _lot_ of fun, wondering to himself how he could do it again – and realizing in a rush that she teased him _all the time_ , and now he knew why. 

That little vixen… 

Hours later, a lot had happened. A movie marathon was playing, but no one sat and watched it for long, the lot of them coming and going and only catching snippets. Jocelyn flitted around, talking to whoever was nearby, and usually Raphael was right on her tail. 

He couldn’t help it. Having her around his brothers…socializing with them…it was scary. Recalling how he’d thought she would make a better fit with _any_ of them was constantly on his mind, and it only grew worse when he could _see_ how well she meshed with them. 

Except, as it turned out, Leo. She barely spoke to him, and not for lack of trying; he was polite but never really engaged with her. On the one hand, Raph was _massively_ relieved that Leo didn’t seem to like her much, but on the other, he was kind of offended. He thought Jocelyn was amazing; why would anyone have a different opinion? 

The thought that maybe Leo’s problem was that he _did_ like her – a lot – only made Raph’s possessiveness burn worse. 

Sometimes she danced, twirling or skipping as she went, clearly enjoying herself. He liked watching her as she went, admiring her fluid motions – he liked it less so when she tried to get him to join her. 

Normally he’d jump at any chance to put his hands on her, but he had little faith in his ability to dance and _really_ didn’t want to give his brothers any reason to tease him. That was all he needed; if he tripped and fell on his face at any point, in front of his girlfriend no less, the jokes would never stop. 

And then April waylaid Jocelyn for a “girl chat”, and Raphael was none-too-subtly told to leave them alone. He watched as they headed over to the elevated kitchen area and started talking…

* * *

As she was pulled aside and isolated from the rest, Jocelyn queried, “What’s this about?” 

April gestured her to sit down as she took a chair, herself, so Jo sat. She started by saying, “I just wanted to talk to you…about you and Raphie.” 

Brows quirking, Jo repeated, “Raphie?” 

With a low laugh, April clarified, “Habit. I still kinda see them as kids, in a way. Anyway, I wanted to ask…what do you see in him?” 

The measuring look April was giving her told Jocelyn a lot. A bit of suspicion, a bit of curiosity, a bit of concern – she definitely looked like a big sister right then. 

Sending her a suspicious look right back, Jo replied, “Is…is this an interview?” 

“Just answer the question.”

More like an interrogation, she noted. “No,” she said, folding her arms and going into “stubborn” mode. 

April mimicked her pose and met her gaze, the two of them equally on guard. Neither said anything for several moments, and April was the first to do so. 

“Jocelyn, I just want to know he’s in good hands,” she reasoned. 

At that, Jocelyn nodded, wetting her lips. An understandable concern. “I need to ask you…and I want a serious answer,” she pressed, “would you be asking this question if I were white?” 

For a moment April looked stunned, like a deer caught in headlights. Then she shook herself. “Well, of course I would, he’s like a brother to me,” she said, irritated. “And this is his first relationship. I’m concerned. _Please_ don’t tell me you’re one of those types who makes everything about skin color.” 

It was a fair assumption. It happened more often than people liked to admit. Jocelyn had always endeavored not to default to race when she experienced unfairness, but sometimes it was hard not to – especially with the way racism was on a rise more recently. She didn’t get it nearly as bad as her Muslim schoolmates or even her mother, but she could still see it everywhere she went. 

“I’m just making sure this _isn’t_ about skin color,” Jocelyn told April. “I didn’t peg you for the type, but even the least racist person can still make a racist comment. It’s just an unfortunate truth.” 

With a nod, April agreed, “All too true. Now, about your relationship..?” 

Sighing, Jocelyn gave in. “The answer is ‘everything’.” 

Confused, April gave her a look, asking for clarification. 

“You ask me what I see in him. Everything,” Jo explained. “If you ask me what I like about him, it’s everything. What do I want from him? Everything. What do I feel for him? _Everything_ ,” she stressed. “There’s nothing about him I don’t like, nothing about him I don’t _want_. I’m…” She trailed off, embarrassment flaring up. 

She looked away, smiling to herself as she picked Raphael’s form on the other side of the lair. As if he’d felt her gaze, he looked right over at her…and smiled back. 

Her heart warmed, little quivers starting in her belly. 

Almost silent, April finished her sentence. “…in love.” 

Eyes snapping back to the brunette, Jo urged quickly, “Don’t tell anyone.” 

“He doesn’t know yet?” April asked. 

Blush worsening, Jo shook her head. “I only realized it earlier today.” 

Smiling wide now, pleased with this development, April chuckled. “I wish I could be there when you tell him.” 

Smiling, herself, Jo chewed on her lip. “He’ll freak.” 

“He’ll get energetic as hell,” April added. 

“It’ll be adorable,” Jo finished, giggling. 

“Adorable?” April echoed, surprised. “You think so?” 

“Well – it’ll be adorable to _me_ ,” the blonde corrected. 

“It’s hard envisioning him that way,” April chuckled. 

Lifting her hands in a w-t-f manner, Jo blurted, “You called him ‘Raphie’ like a minute ago!” 

Shrugging, April replied, “It’s just a nickname.” 

With a laugh, Jo gave up. “You know what, fine. You don’t find him cute, that’s cool. Means it’s all for me.” She stopped there because Donatello and Raphael were heading their way – or, more specifically, to the vehicles behind them. 

The turtles had three now: a funky little van, their much larger garbage truck, and a larger van they’d recently acquired and were fixing up. Along with April’s car, that meant the parking area was pretty full. 

And Jocelyn just _knew_ they were coming this way because Raphael was trying to eavesdrop. So she decided to have fun with it. April seemed to catch on, and the two shared a mischievous look. 

They were silent when the guys grew close – Jo even added a quick “shh” for effect. Donny brushed it off, uninterested, but Raphael failed to hide his burning curiosity. 

The brothers started talking about the newest vehicle, Donny going so far as to point at things for context. Jocelyn heard words like “rotation” and “wattage” and “rpm”, but had little ability to understand them. 

Quietly, she asked, “They out of earshot?” 

April glanced at the brothers and back. “I think so,” she replied, equally quiet. 

They were both well aware that they were being heard and it had Jo grinning. She even noted a hiccup to the guys’ conversation as the girls’ picked up. 

Picking up where they’d left off, April said, “I guess I’m just a little surprised. I didn’t expect you to be so…into him.” 

The guys’ talk stopped dead. As if she hadn’t noticed, Jo murmured, “Oh, you have _no_ idea. Name anything. I’m happy with it _all_.” 

Smirking, April offered, “How about some word association?” 

“Hit me.” 

“Skin?” April started. 

“Warm.” Too easy. 

“Hands.”

“Mine.”

That got a snort out of April – and a clatter from the guys, something having been dropped. 

Continuing on as if nothing were happening, April said, “Eyes?” 

Envisioning them, Jo declared, “Striking.” 

“Kiss?” 

“Thrilling,” she said, feeling a bit of that thrill just thinking about it. 

“Anger?” April went on. 

Hah, easy – though Raphael might find her answer embarrassing. “Desperate,” she said. 

April looked surprised. Moving on, she asked “Voice?”

Jo hesitated on that one. Deep, arousing, sexy… “Censored,” she concluded after a second of thought. 

April giggled. “Wow. Okay.” She paused, then continued, “Shell?”

“Safe.” 

“Strength?”

“Protection.”

“Size?”

That brought to mind – well, naughtier things, and Jo snorted. Short of saying ‘dick’, though, she had one other word in mind: “Perfect.” 

“Biceps?” April suggested with a wicked gleam to her eyes. 

“Mmm,” Jo hummed, her mind seizing on _way_ too many naughty words. “Know what, I’m keeping that as my word. ‘Mmm’.” 

Laughing again, April shook her head. “Whatever.” And then, growing serious, she offered a game-changer. Instead of picking one of his features or qualities, she said, “Raphael.” 

And without thought, Jocelyn replied, “Everything.”


	14. Perfect Balance

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Apparently ‘everything’ had been the right _wrong_ thing to say, because almost immediately Donatello abandoned his brother. Jocelyn saw him escape to the main section of the lair and turned in her chair, regarding Raphael with a (fake) look of shock. 

“Did you hear all that?” she demanded. 

Raphael had been sending Donatello none-too-subtle gestures for help, but at her query he stopped, forcibly shrugging it off. “Nah,” he said – avoiding her gaze. And April’s. And their general vicinity. 

Well, that wasn’t suspicious at all. 

Narrowing her eyes on him, she said, “Don’t lie.” 

And he winced. He wet his lips, shuffled his feet, and looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. To the floor, he admitted, “Yeah…I wasn’t _listening_ but…” 

Still lying. But she let that slide, sending April a pleased grin before she got up and came over to the railing, leaning over it. “So you were eavesdropping,” she concluded. Fixing him with a (fake) disappointed look, she asked, “How ya gonna make up for it?” 

His gaze lifted to her, surprise and then annoyance pinching his features. “That was intentional,” he realized. 

She grinned. 

Looking like he wanted to murder something, he demanded, “Why you always gotta do that?” 

“Do what?” 

“Tease me!” he demanded. 

He was so flustered right then, she’d bet he’d be blushing if his skin weren’t so thick. “You’re so cute, I can’t help it,” she explained. He glowered. “Aw, don’t be like that,” she whined, “I was still being totally honest. Besides, _technically_ the word-association game wasn’t _my_ idea.” 

Sending a glance over her shoulder, she saw April wave her hands. “Uh-uh, don’t turn this on _me_ ,” she said. 

When Jo turned back to Raphael, she found him still in a bad mood. So she knelt down, leaning between the two center rails. Pouting, she offered, “Maybe I can make it up to you?” 

_That_ got his attention on better things; he went from scowling to intrigued. She crooked her finger at him – and he jerked in place, like he’d _almost_ taken a step out of reflex before catching himself. 

God, she found that hot. 

“Come on,” she pleaded, leaning further out. “We’ve been here for _hours_ and you haven’t kissed me _once_.” 

April mock-gasped. “Not _once?_ ” she echoed. 

She sounded sarcastic, but Jo responded seriously, looking her way with, “I _know!_ I’m dying of thirst over here!” 

Raphael made that choked sound again, the one she was starting to associate with his inability to handle her flirting. He seemed to do it every time a comment of hers stunned him, making her understand – little by little – just how inexperienced he was with such things. 

And making her all the more determined to correct that. She’d miss his struggled half-words when they were gone, but _oh, man_ did she want to hear him match her flirts with his own. 

She sent him a scorching look, parting her lips with a tiny smile – the one that she knew always got to him. 

It worked. Still flustered, he glanced at the main lair, then at April, as he stepped up to her. He caught her cheek – and gave her a quick peck on the mouth before retreating back. 

She blinked, disappointed. “What was _that?_ ” she demanded. 

Startled, he met her look with one of confusion. “You asked for a kiss,” he answered. 

“Well, yeah, but in the language of kisses that said ‘I don’t give a fuck’,” she told him. “Way to show me you don’t care about me anymore–” 

He cut her off with a _far_ better kiss, one hand on her ribs to support her weight while the other latched onto her neck. And it was, by far and wide, the deepest, most demanding kiss he’d ever given; he forced her mouth open as much as it could to accommodate the thrust of his tongue and gave her such a thorough, rough sweep that she heard herself whimper. 

Butterflies took flight in her belly and her arms started quivering, hands tightly gripping the bar under her. It only lasted a handful of seconds, but by the time he withdrew her mind was swimming and her heart was racing. 

Giving her a smoldering look, he asked, voice low and throaty, “And what did _that_ one say?” 

She could hardly process his comment, let alone answer it. She replied, sounding as dizzy as she felt, “Sorry, my brain just shut down. Ask again later.” 

He smirked, smug. 

And then she licked her lips, getting the last of his flavor off her skin. His eyes followed the motion, but while she expected that to draw him back in, instead he said, “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” she replied, starting to recover. 

“Lick your lips like that,” he clarified. “You do it after I kiss you a lot.” 

Yes, she did – and she was kind of thrilled to know he’d noticed. How much did he watch her, how many of her habits did he know? She liked the idea that he watched her just a little too much. 

“Ohh, I don’t think you want me to answer that,” she chuckled, withdrawing to stand upright. Leaning over the bar had been starting to hurt her stomach. 

Exasperated, he demanded, “I asked, didn’t I?” 

“Hey, if you want to prove my point about you being cute,” she countered, “go ahead and press. Otherwise, trust me – you want to drop this one.” 

“I ain’t cute!” he snapped, irritated – covering up his embarrassment, she knew. “Now just tell me.”

She arched a brow but acquiesced, saying, “I do it…because I love the way you taste.” He went very still and quiet then, eyes widening as he stared at her. Giving him a teasing smile, she added, “This is where a more clever woman would make a turtle joke, but nothing good is coming to mind. Oh, well. Turtle joke implied, I guess.” 

Then he shook his head, as if shaking off stun, and she intoned, “Awwww. See? This is what I mean by ‘cute’!” 

He glowered, then bit out, “You wanna see ‘cute’?” 

Knowing he was up to something already, she grinned, unable to stop herself from teasing him, “Technically, I’m seeing it right now.” 

He headed up the steps, and as he went, Jocelyn spun and hopped onto the railing, helping to close their near full foot of height difference. She warned him, “Careful – whatever you do is only going to prove my point.” 

Undaunted, he strode right up to her, one hand cupping her neck while the other brushed her hair back over her shoulder. He ducked his head and she lifted hers, expecting a kiss. 

At the last second, he changed direction, bringing his mouth to her now exposed neck. She felt his teeth as he gave her a gentle bite and she gasped, shivers racing down her spine, surprised and pleased with the turn of events. 

“Okay,” she admitted, “points for element of surprise–”

He cut her off by starting to suck at her flesh, arms winding around her middle to hold her where he wanted her. Her head fell to the side, giving him room to work – because, honestly, it felt _amazing_. 

She heard a chuckle and recalled that April was watching them, but all that did was make Jocelyn all the more excited. She had the biggest smile as her mutant boyfriend worked, feeling lips and teeth and tongue and loving every second of it. 

With heat flooding her from his ministrations, she moaned, a pleased sound of appreciation and submission. Her hand found and pet the rough skin of his neck in approval. 

Then there was a sharp lance of pain and she gasped, jolting; Raphael drew back, leaning down towards her and grasping the rail on either side of her. 

All smug-like, he quipped, “Still cute?” 

One hand absently lifted to touch the still-tingling spot he’d worshiped as she replied, “More like dead sexy.” He grinned at her, victorious, and damn it, that was hot, too. 

She loved when he acquiesced his power to her, letting her drive what they did and for how long – but she also loved when he took charge and showed her just how sexy he could be. The way he’d sucked at her skin had been so damn good –

And then it finally hit her. She blurted, “Did you just give me a hickey?” 

She could swear his eyes were twinkling from how pleased he was with himself. Wanting to see it, though, she ducked under his arm and grabbed her bag from the table, pulling it open. Inside was an old compact; the powder disc had fallen out years ago, lost in a parking lot, but she’d kept it because having a little mirror was never a bad idea. 

Now she popped it open and looked, tilting her head. The mark left behind was red and oval and big; it took half her thumb to cover it up. 

April noticed from her angle and whistled low. “You’re going to have that for a few weeks,” she commented. 

And Jocelyn grinned, sending an inviting look to Raphael as she pulled her hair back to reveal the other side of her neck. Pointing at it, she asked, “Matching set?” 

In a snap, he went from smug to surprised, and from there to embarrassed. He looked away. 

“Wait – better idea,” she corrected, “I could return the favor!” 

He gave her a dirty look – all but pouting as she took his victory from him. 

“It’ll be hard,” she mused, “since your skin is tougher than mine and all. More work. But I am _so_ willing to put in the hours,” she promised him. 

Shaking his head, he turned and headed back to the central area, leaving her to call after him, “I swear this isn’t a ‘cute’ thing for once!” 

And though he was glowering the whole time, she was grinning, thrilled with her brand new hickey. 

She failed to notice a pair of blue eyes watching the exchange. 

* * *

Sometime later and Jocelyn was hanging out with Donatello. He was explaining some technological things to her, including how hacking worked and his specially-designed alert system. 

She was elated to find out her name and address had been added to it. 

But while they spoke she heard an argument start from elsewhere. Raphael and Leonardo’s voices carried over to them and Jocelyn looked that way, concerned. She saw them inches from each other; Raphael was posturing, using his greater size in an attempt to intimidate Leo. 

Leo wasn’t budging. 

It was hard to hear exact words, but she made out snippets of sentences: “what’s wrong with,” “you can’t,” “I’m trying to,” and other such things – not enough to get a grasp of the conversation. 

From his seat, Donatello noticed her attention had shifted. Touching her arm to bring her focus back around, he said, “Don’t worry about them. They butt heads all the time.” 

She knew that. Raphael had told her as much more than once. “I wish they didn’t,” she lamented. 

“It’s just their personalities,” Donny assured her. “They fight, then they forgive. It’s how they work.” 

She muttered, “After so many years together, what’s there left to fight about?” 

“These days? You,” he answered. 

That brought her focus snapping back to him, surprised. And Donny looked chagrined, like he’d said something he shouldn’t have; he turned back to the computer screens, cleared his throat, and tried to get the lesson started anew. 

Jocelyn wasn’t having it. When he pointed at a line on the screen, she pulled his hand down. “What do you mean, they fight about me?” she demanded. 

He glanced past her to check on the guys, cautious, then explained, “Leo’s just worried about the effect you’re having on Raph.” 

She looked their way, baffled. “I thought that was over with,” she commented. 

“Wait, you knew?” Donny asked, surprised. 

“Raphael told me, yeah,” she answered. “But he was acting like it was all settled. I thought it was over.” 

Hesitant, Donny ventured, “Not…entirely.” 

She was getting a bad feeling about all this. As she watched, the two broke apart; Leo went one way, Raphael the other. For a moment, though, Leo looked her way. 

She got the impression he was weighing her reaction. Checking an urge to flip him the bird, she thought, _How’s this?_ and started after Raphael. 

And Leo intercepted her, holding out an arm to bar her. “Leave him alone,” he said – she wanted to tell him to stick it where the sun don’t shine. 

“Practice what you preach,” she retorted. 

He narrowed his eyes. “Just listen to me. He’s upset–”

“And whose fault is that?” she wondered. 

A muscle ticked in Leo’s jaw. “Look,” he started, obviously going for a reasonable tone, “Raph’s my brother. I’ve known him a lot longer than you. When he gets like this, you need to give him space to cool off.” 

“No, that’s what _you_ need to do,” she shot back. 

“Jo, he could seriously hurt you,” he warned her. 

“He won’t.” 

“Just accept it’s possible–”

“It’s not,” she argued. “With all due respect, Leo, you might have known him _longer_ than I have, but you don’t know him the _way_ I do.” 

From the mixed shock and irritation on his face, she’d practically undermined his entire relationship with Raphael. 

She understood, for the most part. Leo was the big brother. He felt it was his duty to protect his brothers from any and all threats – and Jocelyn was still technically an unknown. She was a variable, and she was upsetting the balance between the four brothers. If they were on a four-way seesaw, Raphael would be leaning off to reach for her. The rest had no choice but to be swayed by the change. 

“I get it,” she told him, a little more gently. “You don’t approve of me. But, to be frank, I don’t need your approval, Leo,” she said. “I _want_ it. I’d much prefer to get along with everyone in my boyfriend’s family than not. But to be totally honest, I’m not here for _you_. You could dislike me forever and there’d still be no tears shed from me.” 

He looked measuring then, like he was gauging her worth. 

She left it at that, picking up where she left off and following after Raphael. She knew his destination just from the direction he’d gone – and simple deduction of his personality. He’d gone to the weights room. 

He’d shown it to her the first time she’d been here but she hadn’t been back since. Now, as she approached, she heard the dull thudding of fists hitting a punching bag from the arched doorway. 

What she didn’t know: everyone else watched her go, then converged in Donny’s computer alcove to watch the proceedings on the security cameras. 

As she strode in, she could see just how much that argument had affected Raphael; there was a barely-leashed fury in each strike of his fists. After a few moments there was a notable tear and sand began pouring out. 

He snatched up a roll of duct tape – which was conveniently in arm’s reach; judging from how torn-up and taped-up the bag was, this happened often – and quickly patched up the hole…only to start beating on it again. 

She needed to distract him, she decided. “Raphael?” she ventured. 

He paused to look over at her, halfway startled. He hadn’t expected her to come to him? Then, sharply, he turned back to the punching bag and started anew…only this time he positioned his back to her. 

Deliberately shielding himself. She wondered if he was trying to hide from her, or trying to hide his _strength_ from her. Over the past few weeks, she got both impressions: he didn’t like showing too much emotion and preferred being by himself while he got it under control, and he was actually _terrified_ of what she thought of his strength. 

He didn’t want to scare her off. 

As if that were even possible at this point. 

A part of her remained cautious as she approached him, heels clicking on the concrete flooring as she went. His shoulders seemed to draw up the closer she came to him. Fearless, she reached out and put a hand on his arm. 

And he stilled. 

Just like that. 

“Come on,” she urged, sliding her hand down to his. “This is just working you up worse.” 

As her fingers reached his, he pulled his hand free. “Just leave me,” he snapped. 

“Absolutely not,” she shot back, giving his arm a tug. 

He jerked out of her grip, then rounded on her. “Get out!” 

“Never.” 

He looked frustrated. But he couldn’t escape her gentle hands; he kept trying to pull away from her, and she kept reaching for him again. The result was her basically petting his arms – until he gave in and let her take his hands. 

Walking backwards, she led him away from the punching bag. “Come here,” she urged, her steps taking her to the heavy weight bench. “Sit down,” she directed. 

“Jocelyn…” he said, sounding pained. 

“Sit,” she repeated, guiding him. And he did – though he shook his head as he went and refused to look at her once there. 

Accepting that, she stood as close to him as she could, bringing her hands to his neck and absently petting him. With a sigh, he leaned his head against her chest. 

“Talk to me,” she prompted him. “How do you feel?” 

“Pissed,” he bit out. “No surprise there.” 

He sounded…self-loathing, she realized. Not liking that one bit, she said, “ _I’m_ surprised. What happened?” 

Several hesitant seconds passed. Whatever was going on in his mind, he either didn’t want to tell her about it or he was having a hard time finding the words. She seriously doubted the latter, which meant it was probably the former. 

She didn’t like that. 

“Come on, baby,” she said, her voice as gentle as she could make it. “Talk to me. Me and my weird, flappy human ears are waiting.” 

He made a sound like a huff: a single, unwilling chuckle. And she knew the moment he gave in – because he lifted his hands to her hips and dipped his head. “It’s just…Leo doesn’t get me,” he bit out. 

She said nothing, just kept up her light petting, fingers trailing across his skin and under his bandana. She got the impression he was choosing his words carefully, avoiding the subject but addressing the underlying issue. 

After a hesitant second, he snapped at the floor, “Eighteen fuckin’ years and he _still_ doesn’t understand a damn thing about me!” 

Never ceasing her comforting motions, Jocelyn offered, “Have you ever tried to understand _him?_ ” 

Startled, he lifted his head to regard her almost suspiciously. “You’re siding with _him?!”_ he demanded. 

She snorted. She couldn’t help it; that was absolutely absurd. “No. But I _am_ trying to help you,” she told him. “Seems to me like neither of you have ever really tried to see the other’s point of view. Someone has to take the first step,” she reasoned. 

Shaking his head, Raphael replied, “Ain’t gonna be me.” 

“Then it’ll be no one,” she said, disappointed, “because I don’t think this’ll ever occur to him.” 

“He just needs to keep his damn nose out of my business,” Raphael declared. 

“How do you expect him to do that?” she asked. “In his mind, it’s his job to watch out for you, to stick his damn nose in your business.” When he snorted, she went on, “He’s just worried, you know that. He tried to stop me from following you, you know. Do you know why?” 

Dropping his head again, Raphael answered in a little voice, “Because you could get hurt.” 

“No, Raphael,” she denied; curious, he looked up. “Leo doesn’t care about me. He cares about _you_. Yeah, you might hurt me, but we all know what’ll happen if you do. _I’m_ not in his list of concerns. He’s trying to protect you from what you’ll do to _yourself_ if you hurt me.” 

While he contemplated that, she continued, “He’s scared of what’s happening to you _now_ , just by having me here. Honestly, he seems like the ‘perfect balance’ kind of guy. I’m upsetting that balance and he can’t deal with it.” 

Raphael gave a humorless laugh. “Nailed it.” 

“And…I’m sure he’s worried about what’ll happen to you if this…doesn’t work out,” she concluded, somber. 

The thought of losing him – especially now, when she’d only just realized she was in love with him – had _her_ lowering her gaze. Boy, that crack in the concrete sure was interesting…. 

Raphael brought his hand to her neck, his thumb pressing against her jaw to lift her head again. Holding her gaze, he said, “Don’t think about that. Jocelyn, I…I can’t lose you.” 

She felt the same. “I’d hate to be lost,” she agreed with a little smile. When he returned it, she leaned in, sliding her arms around his neck in an embrace. He nuzzled into her shoulder, breathing deep, arms banding around her. 

She loved this, when they just held each other. Sure, touching was nice, his kissing was great, and intimacy with him was phenomenal…

…but none of it could beat how she felt right now, quietly holding her lover and breathing in his tangy, salty scent. 

And when he inhaled long and slow against her shoulder, she knew he felt the same.


	15. Breakdown

**Rating:** R (swearing/sexual references

* * *

* * *

* * *

In the lair, three turtles and a human gathered around Donatello’s computer area, staring into the screen. Donny sat in his chair, April leaned over his shoulder, and Mikey and Leo flanked her. 

As Jocelyn entered the weights room and approached Raphael as he pounded at the punching bag, Leo commented, “There’s no way…”

But when she touched his arm, he just…stopped. The guys were all ready to run in there in case Jo got hurt, yet it didn’t look like it was going to happen. The pair of them even argued, with Raphael demanding space and Jocelyn refusing to give it. 

He kept trying to pull away from her, but as the group watched in stun…she caught his hands and led him away from the bag. 

“Holy shit,” Mikey breathed. They were all shocked at how easy that’d been for her. 

And then she sat him down, embraced him, and he started…talking. The guys were surprised by that, but April was pleased. 

“Told you,” she commented to Leo. 

But as the pair spoke, all attentions were suddenly riveted to the screen again. 

Because Jocelyn was defending Leonardo. She was trying to help the brothers’ relationship, trying to mend what her presence had steadily been tearing. Encouraging Raph to see things from Leo’s point of view? She may as well have been trying to make a river flow in reverse. 

And then they – for lack of a better term – promised themselves to each other and embraced. 

“Awww,” Mikey said. April was smiling. Leo and Donny both looked uncomfortable – Donny from the display and Leo from the talk. 

He didn’t _want_ to think badly of his brother’s first girlfriend, but his protective nature had driven him to discover all he could about Jocelyn. What he’d found out included that she’d had serious anger issues when she was in her early teens, something which had stopped in more recent years…and she’d been a player, dating up to three boys at once and discarding them when they no longer amused her. 

He’d even had Donny hack into her phone so he could check her text messages, half to try and prove himself wrong (because, to be honest, he did _not_ want to have to deliver bad news to Raph about her) and half to get a better grasp of who she was. 

The texts only went back six months, when she got her phone, but in that time she’d had two boyfriends. She’d had an argument with the earlier one, Lance, at Christmas Eve that ended with her mocking his penis. The later one, Desmond, had ended with her putting him in the hospital and him sending her hate messages in reply – none of which she’d responded to. 

Her school records had explained that last one: in the cafeteria the two had an argument. He’d slapped her, so she’d kicked him – in the mouth. Three of his teeth had been knocked out and his jaw was fractured. They were both suspended for the event, but Jo was considered the defender of the pair and so her punishment had been mild. 

This showed Leo two things about her: she responded to violence in kind, and her intentions couldn’t be trusted. 

What he was seeing now, however, painted a different picture. She seemed so devoted to Raphael – even if she _did_ tease him almost constantly. To be fair, he supposed, Raph teased her back at every opportunity. They both clearly enjoyed it. 

Over the last few hours, Leo had watched them. Jocelyn sometimes just reached out and scratched Raph’s shell, and in retaliation he would tickle her ears. She used his attraction to her to manipulate him into doing things she wanted, though he hardly seemed to mind it. And it certainly wasn’t one-sided; he did it less often, but Raph did the same to her. 

They _fit_. 

But Leonardo’s caution couldn’t be quelled. They were both still so young – eighteen and seventeen – and the last thing he wanted was Raphael getting hurt if they broke up. That would result in a hell of a storm, one that would hurt more than just Raphael. 

Leo was drawn out of his thoughts by Jocelyn’s voice coming through the speakers again. 

“Oh! Sorry,” she said with a giggle. “I didn’t mean to just bump that.” 

“S’fine,” Raphael replied. “Not like you could hurt it.” 

All eyes riveted to the screen again. The camera’s view was at an angle, and right then they couldn’t see much – Raphael was turned away from the camera and Jocelyn was right up against him, hiding what her hands were doing. But it definitely looked like her hands were…in his lap. 

“What,” Mikey deadpanned. 

“Uhhh…” was Donny’s brilliant response. 

Biting her lip, the image of Jocelyn went on, “You know, I’ve kind of always wanted to touch it…” 

Raph chuckled, then leaned back just a bit, hands on the cushioned pad at his sides. “Go ahead,” he offered. 

“You sure?” 

“It ain’t gonna bite you,” he told her. 

Leo’s eyes bugged out. “They’re not…” he started, awkward. 

“Uhh, they might be,” Mikey argued. 

Jocelyn’s hands were moving – and the guys were growing increasingly uncomfortable. At length, grinning, Jo said, “Wow…so big and heavy…” 

Chuckling, Raph replied, “Expecting something smaller?”

“For you? Nah,” she giggled. “Big guy like you needs big…equipment…to match.” 

At that, April suggested, “Uh, Donny? Maybe you should turn that off…” 

“Careful,” Raphael was saying now, all smug. “You could hurt yourself.” 

“Oh, my god,” April said, lifting a hand to her forehead. 

“I kinda want to play with it,” Jocelyn was saying, “but I’m not sure…how? Maybe you could show me how _you_ play with it?” 

Nervous, Donny covered his mouth and giggled, then scanned his keyboard, looking for a particular key – but his mind was a little too distracted…

Raphael agreed with a chuckle, “You want to see it, huh?” 

Biting her lip, Jo nodded. “Yeah…I do.” 

“Okay.” He got up, guiding Jo to sit where he’d just been – and pulled out his sai, letting the camera fully see as he stabbed at air and spun them in his grasp. 

Mikey started laughing. April was shaking her head, grinning. Donny looked exhausted. And Leo couldn’t help a smile, himself, trying not to laugh. 

“He pranked us,” Mikey noted. 

“ _They_ did,” Donny corrected. 

From the screen, Raphael turned to the camera and said, “You guys done spying on us now?” 

Jocelyn was losing it, laughing hysterically and laying back, holding her middle. Donny, shaking his head, canceled the feed. He rubbed his eyes under his glasses. 

Gazing between the others, Michelangelo offered, “…Guys? I think…I think Jo’s really good for Raph.” 

“No kidding,” Donny intoned. 

“I mean, when was the last time he pranked us?” 

In unison, Leo and Donny answered, “The clown incident.” 

It was almost six years ago, now, but Raph had been secretly collecting clown masks, cut-outs, balloons, and other such things. In one night, while the others slept, he’d put them out in strategic places – over the course of the next _week_ , each of the brothers had gotten spooked by at least four of them _each_ , despite them trying to hunt the objects down to the very last. 

He hadn’t pranked them since – probably because he’d landed them in the _Hashi_ when one of the masks got Splinter. 

Though, to be honest, watching Splinter leap six feet in the air had been _hilarious_. All four had seen it…and all four had been rolling with laughter. It’d taken Splinter several minutes just to calm them down enough to send them to the _Hashi_. Raph hadn’t pulled another prank since. 

Leo still didn’t fully trust Jo, but these little events were showing him a side to her he hadn’t known before. In all her visits with them, she’d shown interest in each of the brothers – an interest he was now perceiving as simple curiosity, but at the time had seemed more nefarious. Knowing her “player” history had made him confuse simple politeness with attempts at seduction. 

Which meant he now owed her an apology. 

* * *

It took Jo a little while to recover from her laughing fit. By the time she did, she had to wipe tears from her eyes. “That was _so_ much fun,” she commented to Raphael. 

He was grinning and laughing to himself as he sheathed his sai. 

She almost hadn’t expected it to work. While they’d cuddled, he’d whispered to her that his brothers were watching them through the camera. At first she hadn’t believed him – how could he possibly know that? – but, well, he _was_ a ninja, and these _were_ his brothers. He knew them better than she did. 

She’d given in and suggested their little game, whispering to him to play along. Even if it turned out the others _hadn’t_ been watching, it’d still been a lot of fun. 

Then, as she laid out on the heavy weight bench, she noticed the bar near her head – how it was _bent_ from all the weights currently on it. At once, she was reminded how strong Raphael was…and how much she wanted to see it in action. 

Sitting up, she grinned at him. “So,” she began. 

Looking at her, he replied, “So?” 

She waggled her brows. “Feel like showing off for me?” 

His eyes immediately lifted and snagged onto the bar behind her. She must have said the _exactly_ right thing, because he looked… _excited_. 

Hell, yes, he wanted to show off. 

She offered a hand. He took it, pulling her off the bench, then stepped up to it and quickly counted the weight on one side of the bar. “What’s it at?” she asked. 

“Five-twenty,” he answered. “Leo must have been using it while I went to get’cha.” 

_Five. Twenty._

“Jesus,” she quipped. “That’s, like, world-class Olympic shit.” 

Raphael sent her a sharp look. “Think that’s impressive? He can barely do three sets with this. I could do ten times that, easy.” 

“Thirty _sets?_ ” she echoed. “That’s, like, three hundred reps.” 

“Yep.” 

She felt her face flush with heat, the very idea exciting her. “Yeah?” she prompted. 

Eyes holding hers, he unbuckled his harness, setting it aside, then laid back on the bench. Biting her lip, Jo hovered between disbelief and desire, watching as his hands grasped the bar. 

And then he started, pushing it off the rests, and disbelief took precedence. The bench creaked and groaned under him as he lifted and lowered it, and god, he didn’t even look stressed! He may as well have been lifting a branch for all it did to challenge him. 

His breathing hadn’t even changed. He was inhaling and exhaling properly, but not harshly – though she suspected this was part of his “showing off”. He _had_ to be feeling the weight, even if he wasn’t displaying it. 

A naughty part of her wanted to climb on top of him, straddle him, and add her own weight to the bar. She’d bet he would barely react – but it was a dangerous idea, so she forced it out of her mind. 

She could feel herself growing aroused as she watched him, so impressed she wanted to suck him off. How would he react to that, she wondered, if she did it while he was still doing reps? What would he do if she got down on her knees and teased him until he was hard, then started to stroke and lick him? What if she coupled it with an order that he count out loud until he reached that three hundred mark? 

Her body grew hot from the idea. 

He stopped abruptly, holding the bar above his head as if stunned. Then he put it back on the rests and sat up, looking dazed – and notably not looking at _her_. 

What the hell? She pouted, “Hey, I was having fun…” 

He ran a hand over his mouth, then bit out, “Yeah, I noticed…” 

The dots connected. Earlier today she’d come to the conclusion that the turtles had excellent senses of smell, and if she thought back further…well, Raphael always seemed to notice when she was aroused. The moment she could feel herself start to get wet, his attention would snap to her, desire flooding his features. 

He’d always _known_. 

And now she knew how. 

“Do I smell that good?” she asked, coming closer to him. 

He looked up, surprised. “Jocelyn…?” he started, tentative. 

Lowering her voice, she murmured, “You love it, don’t you? The scent of my desire for you…” 

He shivered, then rubbed at his neck – his awkward, trying-to-regain-composure move. “So, you…you figured it out,” he concluded. 

“Uh-huh.” She leaned closer to him. 

His eyes dilated as he looked up at her. “Sorry I never told you, but…”

“Uh-huh…” 

“…it’s kinda…” 

Lips close to his, she repeated, “Uh…huh…” 

Just as he lifted his chin, intent on meeting her kiss, [a deep, baritone theme](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DAOP26WOOMbc&t=ZGExMjhiZjU0MGVkYWI5OWFmOGQwMWYxYTJjODYxNjA4ZDAxMDBjOSx5c29tMVRCZQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F166955930049%2Fthe-dancer-part-14&m=0) rang out around them – her back pocket vibrating with it. She groaned. 

“Uh, what’s that?” Raphael asked, the moment broken. 

Taking the phone out, Jocelyn answered, “My mom’s ring tone.” She stepped back from him, adding, “Watch as I make a prediction – first thing out of her mouth is gonna be ‘ _where are you?!’”  
_

She tapped the green ‘answer’ button, lifted the phone to her ear, and started, “Hey Mom, what’s–”

“Where are you?!” Cecilia’s voice shrieked. 

Recoiling, Jo held the phone out, giving Raphael a pained look before bringing it back to her ear. “Geez, Mom, chill. I told you I was going to Cassie’s.” 

“Oh, you’re at Cassie’s?” Cecilia asked, doubtful. “Well, I just called Cassie’s, and she said you’re not there.” 

“Okay, well, if you let me finish,” Jo snapped, rolling with it, “I was _going_ to Cassie’s, but she called me up on the way out and told me she wasn’t feeling good. I called Stacy and asked to hang with her, instead.” 

“Stacy, huh?” There was a pause, and then Cecilia said, “I called Stacy, too. And Rose and Ginger and Jessica, and everyone else in your group! They all said you’re not there!” 

And Jo’s stomach sank – not because she’d been caught, but because of the method. Heart starting to ache, she replied, “Hang on…Mom, you called everyone? All my friends, my troupe, all of them? … _Before_ calling me?” There was silence on the other end, Cecilia realizing the same thing Jocelyn was. 

“This was a trap,” she concluded. “You did this intentionally to catch me in a lie.” 

“Maybe if you wouldn’t lie–”

“Nuh-uh,” Jo interrupted, starting to pace as her anger rose. “If you were worried about where I was, you would’ve called me directly! This was just you feeding your own paranoia and _looking_ to punish me for something!” 

Ignoring that, Cecilia shouted, _“Just tell me where you are!”  
_

Almost hissing from how hurt and angry she was, Jo shot back, “At my boyfriend’s!”

“Desmond?!” Cecilia bit out, shocked. 

“No – that’s long over,” Jo told her. “Different guy, way better.” 

“Who?!” 

“Not telling.” 

“Jocelyn Rhea Delaghy, if you don’t tell me right now–”

“You’ll what?” Jo spat. Raphael came up behind her as she paced, holding her back against his chest to stop her path. She was so incensed she almost pushed him away. 

“I’ll call the police!” Cecilia was saying. “I’ll tell them you’re a missing person!” 

“Go ahead, do that,” Jo snapped, calling her bluff. “I’ll call the police, too, tell them I’m _not_ a missing person. Then _you_ get in trouble for filing a false police report!” 

“Come home _right this instant_ –”

 _“No!”_ She could feel Raphael getting upset on her behalf, his chest rising and falling ever more rapidly as the call dragged on. 

_“Jocelyn!!”  
_

_“Cecilia!”  
_

Her mother sucked in a breath, shocked. Then she screamed into the phone, “Fine, if you want to stay out and be a _slut_ you can just–!!” 

Jocelyn dropped the phone, stunned at hearing her mother call her a slut. It clattered on the ground and her legs suddenly felt weaker, heart clenching and eyes stinging. 

From the phone’s new location, Cecilia’s voice called out, “What was that? Jocelyn? Jocelyn!” 

And Jo lifted her foot, so tempted to just stomp on the phone, to break it. Instead, she fought with her anger, wrestling it under control. 

Holding her more securely, Raphael ventured, “Jocelyn…?”

Unable to look at him right then, she said with a quivering voice, “She called me a slut.” 

His hands fisted against her belly, his arms going rigid. “Jocelyn, you’re not–” he started. 

“I know,” she interrupted. “But it hurts that she thinks that way of me.” 

“Ignore her,” he pressed. “Want me to break it?” 

She hesitated. It was her property, that cell. If she broke it, that’d be on her – if Raphael did, that’d be on him. She wouldn’t be accountable, and it’d still feel so good to watch it shatter. 

Better not, though. 

“No,” she denied. She leaned down to pick it up again, deciding, “I need to…handle this.” By the time she lifted the phone to her ear again, Cecilia was breathing hard and muttering to herself. 

“…her father’s daughter…never listens…what kind of child…” 

“Mom,” Jo said, struggling to put strength back into her tone. 

There was a pause, and then Cecilia began with a calmer voice, “Just tell me who this guy is.” 

“No,” Jo denied. 

“Jocelyn,” Cecilia warned. 

“I know exactly what you’ll do, so no,” Jo told her. 

“Come. Home.” 

“No, Mom.” 

“This isn’t a debate!”

“You’re right,” Jo agreed, “it’s not.” 

There was a pause, and then Cecilia told her, “Your father would be rolling in his grave right now if he knew how you’d turned out.” 

Ignoring the fact that he’d been cremated, Jo replied, “Really? Cause, ya know, I’m not doing anything wrong…and Dad would’ve known that. He would’ve trusted me, wouldn’t have looked for crimes where there were none. Like you do.” 

Her voice was breaking as she spoke, and she fought to keep from losing it. 

But this was just so painful… 

Irritated, Cecilia started, “You keep lying to me–” 

“Because you never believe the truth!” Jo told her. “I tell you I’m going to Cassie’s, you call me a liar. Then when I’m there, you call and I answer and you make me take pictures with Cassie to prove it and don’t even apologize when you’re wrong!” 

“You _did_ lie!” Cecilia snapped. 

“I lie and tell you I’m at a fucking co-ed party because you believe _that_ sooner than me just spending the night with Cassie and Jessica!” Jocelyn shot back. “I don’t party, Mom – not the drinking, toking kind, and I don’t sleep around, and you never fucking believe me!” 

“Don’t you dare raise your voice to me! I’m your _mother_ , and you _will_ listen to me–” 

“No!” Jo said again, cutting her off. “You’ve talked and talked and talked, and now it’s _your_ turn to listen! I’m _not_ coming home tonight, not with you in this mood, and I’m _not_ telling you a damn thing about where I’m going anymore! You just invent your own damn answers anyway!” 

“How dare you disrespect me like this?” Cecilia bit out. 

“You want to talk about respect?” Jo hissed. “How about the disrespect you show me _constantly!”  
_

Incensed, Cecilia snapped, “When have I ever disrespected you?” 

“How about the time I told you I was dating Lance,” Jo offered, “and you _threw_ a box of condoms at me and told me I’d better not get pregnant cause it’ll ruin my life!” 

“I– that was your fault!” Cecilia insisted. 

_Her_ fault? Jo stared at the phone for a moment like it was made of poison. “How about when you walked into my room and grounded me for three weeks for no reason?” she demanded. “And I fucking _did it_ , I obeyed, cause I figure if I just do what you say then eventually you’ll trust me again…and you just _don’t_.” 

There was a hesitation, and then Cecilia said, “It’s hard to trust a daughter like you.” 

And Jo’s heart tore in half, eyes burning from the pain. “You know, Mom,” she started, hearing the pain in her own voice, “I was never going to tell you this…I never wanted to hurt you…but you just hurt me, so why not?” She hesitated, then got it out: “Between you and Dad, I’d really rather have Dad.” 

She may as well have said _I’d rather you were dead_. 

Cecilia gasped, shocked. “H-how…how _dare_ you…” she forced out. 

As a chill settled in her bones, Jo said, calm and composed, “Don’t forget to check your blood sugar before bed. I’d hate for you to have an episode when I’m not there to help.” 

After all, her mother was diabetic, and she’d ended up in the hospital twice in Jo’s lifetime because she hadn’t been watching her blood sugar close enough. 

That said, Jo hung up the call as Cecilia began to yell again, then turned off the phone entirely. Her hands shook as she held her cell, fighting not to cry. 

Raphael took the phone from her hands, tossing it somewhere out of sight. She couldn’t muster up the will to care. Then he guided her to turn around – but she did so with her head down, not wanting him to see her so low. 

A finger under her chin, he tried to lift her head; she brushed his hand away, refusing. 

“Jocelyn…” he began, sounding almost as heartbroken as she felt. 

“I’m fine,” she lied. 

He pulled her hat off her head and started petting her hair, saying, “What d’you need?” 

A distraction. There weren’t any mirrors in here, but it had plenty of open space. She could practice – it’s what she always did when emotion plagued her. 

If she didn’t get started now, her pillars of strength were going to crumble. 

But when she made to step away from Raphael, he caught her, keeping her there. “Jocelyn, look at me,” he pleaded. 

She shook her head, trying to extricate herself from his grip; he didn’t let her go. Every time she pulled one arm free, he caught the other. Soon enough frustration welled, combining with heartache and sorrow and despair until she was a mass of negativity and brimming tears. 

“Stop,” she begged on a breath, “stop, just stop…” 

“It’s okay to cry,” he told her, his deep voice incredibly soothing to hear right then. 

Which is exactly what she _didn’t_ want. “No it’s not!” she snapped. 

“Jocelyn…you cry all the time,” he pointed out, undoubtedly thinking about her dances on the roof. 

“Not about _me!_ What do I have to cry about?” she choked out, dropping her head further. “I have my h-health, my house, my mom, m-my dancing…and you…my life is g-great…” 

She had nothing to cry about. She was gifted, lucky, promising; for a colored girl, that was rare. She counted her blessings often, telling herself in no small words that she was tremendously fortunate. Even now, wracked with pain over that argument with her mother, she counted them again. 

She had no reason to cry. 

A hand on her cheek lifted her head to him – and he sucked in a breath. When she looked, she saw an answering sorrow in him. 

She looked away again, embarrassed anger rising in her and making her shove at him. “Don’t _do_ that!” she snapped, even as her voice kept trembling. “Just–just tell me I’m stupid already, like you did before!” 

He was shaking his head. “No, Jocelyn – I was wrong,” he told her. 

And, god, that made it worse. 

“I was wrong to compare our lives like I did – _look at me,”_ he pleaded again. 

She didn’t _want_ to – it would only make it harder for her to regain composure. Growing desperate, she half-sobbed, “J-just tell me I’m a stupid, pathetic, weak little girl, cause that’s what I am!” 

He pulled her against him, her struggles worthless in fending him off, and insisted, “No, Jocelyn – you’re not weak! If anything, you’re too strong. When was the last time you cried for your own sake?” 

She couldn’t recall. Any time she grew close to tears, she threw herself into ballet, forcing her focus to shift. She’d been using it as her escape from life since the death of her father. 

“Let me go,” she begged, the words so weak they were barely audible. She _needed_ to dance – now, before she crumbled. 

And Raphael cradled her against him, stroking her hair and her back…and she gave in, the last of her walls crashing down. 

In her mind, all she saw were brown eyes and a loving smile, all her sorrow seizing on a single point. 

She sobbed against Raphael, “I want my Dad back…” 

The floodgates opened, all her pain and misery pouring out – and her boyfriend just lifted her up in his arms and carried her away.


	16. Just A Kiss

**Rating:** R (swearing/sexual content)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Jocelyn’s pain hurt Raphael, too. The moment she broke down and started sobbing against him, he knew two things: they needed better privacy…

…and he would _kill_ to keep her from feeling like this ever again.

When he lifted her up in his arms she curled up tight, clinging to him with her face in his shoulder. A part of him was heartened by this; yes, she’d fought against breaking like any trained warrior, but she’d also clearly needed this – and that she held onto him instead of demanding solitude…it told him volumes about how she felt.

“I got you,” he murmured, letting her know that she was perfectly safe regardless of how embarrassing this must be for her.

When he headed out, intent on taking this to his room, he heard and felt her struggle to hold back her sobs. He couldn’t blame her; he had to walk right through the middle of the lair to make it there.

As he did so, his brothers and April all gave him curious, even shocked looks; he shook his head to let them know they shouldn’t press for information. Even Leo looked concerned – he might not like Jocelyn much, but it was clear his protective nature still extended to her regardless.

Raphael appreciated that.

Once in his room, he took a seat on the bed, close to the wall, and reclined as much as his shell would allow without making him uncomfortable. Jocelyn curled up between his legs, hiding her face, and he pet her soothingly as she vented her pent-up griefs.

Admittedly, he didn’t know much about her mother. Jocelyn didn’t talk about her often, and when she did it was always with qualifiers: “we don’t talk much,” “last time we spoke,” “didn’t see her today,” and so on. It was obvious Jocelyn loved her mother and cared for her, and Cecilia was doing her best as a single mother, but the two had a lot of negativity between them.

He wouldn’t doubt it’d been years since they’d had a simple mother-daughter day that didn’t end in a fight. In a way, it was like his relationship with Leo: Cecilia was overprotective and Jocelyn was vying for independence.

And yet, despite all this, he knew Cecilia wasn’t the cause of Jocelyn’s tears now. No, her words – “I want my Dad back” – told him exactly what was hurting her the worst.

There was no soothing that kind of pain.

Julian Delaghy, her father, was a subject Jocelyn seemed to avoid whenever possible. Other than him being a personal trainer Raphael knew nothing about him, hadn’t even seen a photo of him. The fact that Jocelyn was so reluctant to mention him had kept Raphael from asking anything.

Perhaps he should have.

Now, as he stroked her hair and back, as she cried against him and he could smell her tears in the air, he admitted he was ill-equipped to handling this. Every wheezing cry wrenched at his heart, making him wish he could magic up a solution.

For lack of guidance, he found himself just talking to her. Placations, mostly – “it’s okay,” “I’m here,” “you’re safe,” “I got you,” – but things he hoped would help.

And it dragged on…and on…and on. Soon his girlfriend was little more than a quivering mess in his grasp, and it made him truly concerned for her. Just how long had it been since she’d dealt with her grief? The only answer that fit was also the scariest: _never_.

For her to ache for her father now, ten years after losing him, told Raphael that she had _never_ let herself mourn. She had a decade’s worth of unresolved pain in her, pain which had been boiling and stewing this entire time.

 _If anything, you’re too strong,_ he’d told her – unaware of just how right he was.

Eventually, however, the tide ebbed. She was shaking worse than ever, but her sobs quieted to quivering breaths. She was probably deathly embarrassed, though, so he opted not to do anything until _she_ did.

Some moments later she reached up, catching his hand mid-pet and bringing it down to her cheek. She pressed a kiss into his palm, the act wringing a smile from him. _Thank you,_ that kiss said.

Figuring she might be ready to talk now, he reached over to grab the box of tissues on the nightstand – he _was_ a young man with a red-hot girlfriend, after all; that box was a necessity – and offer it to her. She hadn’t lifted her head yet, but he heard her thank him on a quiet breath and take out a few of the tissues to dry her eyes and wipe her nose.

By the time she sat up away from him, her shakes had lessened considerably. Her eyes were bloodshot, red and puffy; her nose was nearly as much so. But even with tear tracks down her face, he still found her beautiful.

She glanced at his chest where she’d been resting and winced. “God, I cried all over you,” she said, her voice rough from her sobs and twisted with regret.

He looked down, noting the moisture on his plastron, and shrugged. He could barely feel anything there, anyway. “It’s fine. Right now,” he said, leaning forward, “I’m just concerned abou’chu.”

For the first time in an hour, she met his gaze. His heart squeezed in his chest, the lingering pain in her features enough to hurt him, too. He cupped her cheek, giving her gentle strokes with his thumb.

Her eyes dropped, leaning her head into his touch. Then she took a deep, shaky breath, wiped at her eyes again, and said, “I need to take out my contacts.”

Raphael nodded. “Got it.” He pulled away from her with reluctance, heading out of his room to the kitchen where her purse waited.

Along the way Mikey fell into step beside him. “Everything okay, bro?” he asked.

Of his brothers, Mikey had taken the biggest shine to Jocelyn – lately in large part because she’d started defending him – so it was no surprise that he was concerned about her. After their chat, Raph even trusted that Mikey wouldn’t flirt with her.

Shaking his head, Raphael explained, “She was just hit with grief over her dad.”

Subdued, Mikey said, “Sounded bad.”

“It was. But don’t talk to her about it,” Raph advised, picking up her bag from the table. “Her dad’s a sensitive subject.”

Nodding, Mikey agreed, “Got it.” Then he held out Jocelyn’s phone – he must have picked it up from where Raphael had tossed it back in the weights room.

Taking it, Raphael debated leaving it here. Right now, the cell was an object of misery for Jocelyn, something best left out of sight. At length he stuck it in his own pocket, saying, “Thanks, bro.” He gave Mikey’s head a rough rub as he strode back to his room.

He found Jocelyn sitting at the edge of the bed, ankles crossed, tissues wadded in her hands. She looked like she’d been gazing around the room until he came in.

He handed over the purse with a smile, asking, “Like it?”

Her answering smile was watery and tentative, but she nodded. “Yeah, actually. I hadn’t thought your room would be so ordered.”

Trying to see it from her point of view, he compared her room to his. While she had up ballet posters and her walls were lavender, his walls were concrete and held up numerous weapons – not just more sai, but several [kama](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.swords24.eu%2Fimages%2Fproducts%2Fen%2FM48_Tactical_Kama_With_Sheath_UC3017.jpg&t=YTYyMzY4NWE3ODYwMTk5YmZmZWUwNDRkOTY2Mzk3NmFlY2VmMmNhZCxqOUttWXR3Wg%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F166971255824%2Fthe-dancer-part-15&m=0) (some with chains, some without), climbing picks, shuriken, combat axes and the like. His bed was a massive king-size against her simple twin-size, with large pillows and dressed in nothing but dark reds.

He even had a trio of lights hanging from the ceiling – right above a red sheet designed to half dim the light and half tint everything in red.

Nothing was out of place in her room, and to be honest, nothing was in his, either. The bed was made, the corner table’s magazines were ordered, the floor was clean; Splinter’s fastidious nature and discipline had ensured that none of the brother’s rooms could ever be messy.

In that way, he and Jocelyn had identical rooms.

Shrugging, he finally replied, “Surprise.”

She gave a weak chuckle.

 _I’ll take it,_ he thought, glad that even that much of her humor had returned. He took the wadded, moist tissues from her hand and tossed them in the trash bin with an over-dramatic, overhead hook shot. When he crowed, “Two points!” she chuckled again.

It wasn’t really his style to act like that, but right then he was willing to do just about anything to cheer her up. It’d worked in part, clearly, and that made the embarrassment attached to the action fully worth it.

She fished in her bag, pulled out her lens case, and went about taking them out using his mirror. Then she splashed cold water on her face and he retrieved a little hand towel for her. She hummed in thanks while she dried her face.

As she examined her washed face in the mirror, he got the impression this was critical for her – that she didn’t look like she’d just been crying despite the fact that she had. Her mascara hadn’t run, he noted; she seemed to be looking at it, too.

She even checked her lipstick, too, commenting, “That’s one way to do a stress test.”

He didn’t get what she was talking about, but the fact that she was talking at all was promising. “Feeling better?” he asked.

Her eyes dropped, suddenly finding the drain massively interesting. “Sort of. All that crying gave me a headache. But…it kinda feels easier to breathe now.” She hesitated, then looked up at him. “Thank you,” she murmured.

She sounded so awkward. He’d bet she’d never thought she’d be in this situation, crying in her boyfriend’s arms and then thanking him for it.

He found her adorable right then.

He reached out, stroking her cheek again, and replied, “Anytime, Jocelyn. Anything you need, I’m here.”

She smiled, closing her eyes and leaning into his touch again, and it made his heart give a sweet pulse. Unable to help himself, he ducked his head and kissed her.

It took her a second to react, and then – embarrassed – she withdrew, saying, “Jeez, baby, I just got done crying…”

“And you’re still perfect,” he told her.

She glanced up sharply, surprised. Was she blushing, or was that just an effect of her weeping? Either way, she looked seductive – even with her bloodshot eyes and wet eyelashes.

And he couldn’t help but think…he liked having her here. In his home, in his room, in his gaze; it made him reluctant to let her go. Which is why, when he recalled her repeatedly telling her mother she wasn’t coming home, he found himself saying, “You could…if you want…you could stay here tonight.”

Technically it was already close to midnight, so the ‘night’ was almost over, but the point remained.

Jocelyn blinked up at him, startled, as if she hadn’t considered it. “Really?” she queried. “I usually just go to Cassie’s when I don’t wanna go home.”

That comment had him hurriedly grasping at any excuse he could, and he asked, “How far is that?”

“Umm,” she hummed, glancing away as she thought. “From here, should be like an hour cab ride.”

Not too bad, he admitted, but enough to make him reply, “You’ve gotta be tired by now. Just stay the night. I’ll take you back whenever you’re ready to go.”

She bit her lip – and, damn it, he found that so freaking sexy – then glanced at his bed and down at the ground.

 _Damn right,_ he thought. He wanted her in his bed so damn bad – he’d sleep wherever she was most comfortable having him, but he wanted her _there_. “You can have the bed,” he told her, “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Her gaze shot up. “Uh-uh,” she denied, “I’m not taking your bed from you.”

“I ain’t got a problem with it,” he lied.

“Liar,” she declared; he struggled not to smile. “Look, the bed’s huge. I’m pretty sure there’s enough room for both of us.”

And he couldn’t fight off a smirk, his plan working perfectly.

Jocelyn got it. “Oh, my god,” she sighed, “that’s what you wanted!”

He chuckled, nodding shamelessly. “Nailed it.”

She tsked. “Shoulda known,” she said to herself.

Probably, yeah. And now that he had his victory, he leaned down to grab her by the ass, lifting her in his arms. Her hands went to his neck, thighs pressing in tight to his sides, and she _bit her lip_.

In a snap, he just had to have her. He kissed her, blind-walking back to his bed and then crawling over it with her held against him until she was at the pillows. He tried telling himself they didn’t _need_ to do this, that it would end up being embarrassing – neither of them were very quiet, after all, and his door was just a blanket. His brothers were bound to hear them.

But he _wanted_ this so much right then. Something about the vulnerability she’d shown him had spiked his instincts, making him want her all the more. He could still smell the salt of her tears, and as he kissed her he could taste it, too.

Her normal flavor was heightened by it, only increasing his hunger for her.

 _Anything you want to do, my answer is yes,_ she’d told him. Well, right then what he wanted to do was fool around with her – _in his bed_. It was so much more thrilling than her couch, to be honest.

He showed her his desire as they kissed, letting her feel how much he wanted her. They hadn’t done much over the last two weeks – mostly they just talked, pet and kissed, and the two times they’d been intimate in that time they’d gone no further than their first.

This time he wanted to indulge his fantasies and taste her womanhood, sucking at her honeyed flesh until she came for him. 

He hooked a knee under her leg as they kissed, pulling it up over his thigh and running his hand over her toned muscles. His hand ventured higher in time with his kiss slipping down to her neck, giving her little sucks as he went. And then his hand went under her top, found her breast – and he sucked in a breath.

Because she wasn’t wearing a bra. This entire time, she hadn’t been wearing a bra! He stroked her flesh in a kind of reverence, so turned on he felt his cock start to slip free already, wanting her –

And then Jocelyn was wriggling, pushing his hand from her breast and saying, “Wait, wait…”

He could have whined. But he did as she directed, moving his hand aside to prop him up and looking down at her with concern. “What’s wrong?” he asked, sexually frustrated but unwilling to cause her any distress.

She looked reluctant as she answered, “I-I dunno…I just got really nervous all of a sudden.” Wincing, she gave him a pleading look.

He was disappointed. There was no denying that. But he still nodded, easing off her. It wasn’t like her to turn _him_ down – especially after some of the night’s events – yet a lot of heavy things had happened tonight. It would’ve been a wonder if she _didn’t_ feel differently right then.

Her crying bout, alone, must have affected her deeply. She’d need time to come to grips with herself again.

She sat up, looking chagrined, and apologized, “I’m sorry, baby…I don’t…”

He shook his head. “If you need to stop, just say so,” he quoted.

She smiled.

Then, looking to work this out, he asked, “How do you feel?”

She hesitated, thinking, for several moments. He could see there was something on her mind, but she was avoiding talking about it. That’d never happened before – she wasn’t the type to hold her tongue.

Whatever this was, it was big, he decided. A part of him was terrified of what it might be: she was afraid of him; she didn’t want him anymore; she didn’t want to be here…

He forced those thoughts away. None of those things were enough to make her hesitate, anyway. She never lied, nor withheld how she felt.

And she finally said, “Just A Kiss, by Lady Antebellum.”

For a second he was baffled – and then he realized she was giving him a song title. He didn’t know that one, and he was surprised by her choice of reply, but he nodded all the same. “Got it,” he told her, making a mental note to look it up later.

And Jocelyn smiled at him, relieved.

* * *

She fell asleep easily after that. She took off her shoes and pants, put her hair in a braid, and snuggled under his covers. For a little while Raphael lay beside her, smiling at her.

Her bronze skin and blonde hair made such a lovely picture here, bright against his dark red bedding, looking so comfortable in his bed. He found himself idly stroking her arm as she slept, pleased that she was such a deep sleeper.

It let him show her affection even now, without ever disturbing her rest.

But now that she was out, he got up, repeating that song title to himself as he left his room. The others had gone to bed, too, and April had gone home. They knew Jocelyn was staying the night, and undoubtedly they believed she and Raphael would be having sex at some point in the night, but that’d get corrected come morning.

For now, he strode to Donny’s computers, taking a seat and bringing up Youtube. After searching for the song, he picked the official audio release, then put on Donny’s headphones.

As the song kicked off, he was struck by the emotion behind it…and how well it fit them. And the duet surprised him, not expecting a guy to jump in. He could almost swear whoever made it had been talking _about them_. It actually made him feel a little emotional, to be honest.

Just the opening line, “Lying here with you so close to me, it’s hard to fight these feelings when it feels so hard to breathe,” twisted at his nerves. There was so much hope, so much promise, in this song. This is what she’d been feeling when he laid her on his bed?

It made him feel… _full,_ like too many emotions were trying to get out at once.

[ _Just a shot in the dark that you just might_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_FP5ekGlqqg)   
[ _Be the one I’ve been waiting for my whole life_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_FP5ekGlqqg)   
[ _So baby I’m alright_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_FP5ekGlqqg)   
[ _With just a kiss goodnight_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_FP5ekGlqqg)

Something _had_ changed in her, he realized. She’d always been so passionate with him, always vying for a second orgasm after the first, it was like she didn’t care at all about romance. But if this song was in her mind, if it fit her thoughts and desires, then she did _now_.

She wanted romance. Well, then, he’d find a way to give it.

By the time the song ended, he was already putting together a plan. It wouldn’t be easy – he was extremely limited in what he could do for her and with her. But they had a lot of little allies and friends now. If he called in some favors, explained what he wanted, got the times lined up right…

…he could take her on a _date_.

Planning, right then, wasn’t easy. It’d been a long day and he was tired. Reasoning that he had plenty of time to work this out but only a very limited amount of time to bask with Jocelyn, he decided to shelve it for the night.

There was a fantasy made flesh waiting for him in his bed. Thinking those words warmed him, becoming an irresistible lure. As he climbed back into his bed, marveling at the beauty before him, he could almost believe he’d fallen for her.


	17. Good Morning

**Rating:** XXX (swearing/sex)

* * *

* * *

* * *

When Raphael woke the next morning, things had changed. He’d fallen asleep on his stomach, gazing at Jocelyn until his eyes slipped closed of their own accord, and she’d been on her side, facing him. She’d looked so adorable, her hands clasped at her throat, fingers tangled, lips parted. 

But as he came to, he found himself turned towards her (an uncomfortable position, thanks to his shell) with Jocelyn snuggled into him, her back to his chest. He had one arm under his head, the other draped over her, his hand over her clasped ones. 

It made him feel _giddy_ , damn it, drawing a grin from him. They were freaking _cuddling!_ All he had to do was dip his chin down and his nose was in her hair. He inhaled deep, absolutely loving that the first thing he smelled in the morning…was her. 

Yet now that he was awake, he was aware of how uncomfortable he was. His shell was being pushed from his own weight, and with it, his spine. But fuck it. If he could spent an entire day in the _Hashi_ standing on one foot – on top of a tricycle – he could laze in bed with Jocelyn a little bit longer. 

He couldn’t help but start to pet her, his hand trailing from her arm to her ribs to her hip. She didn’t wake, but she _did_ give a pleased hum. Encouraged, he kept up his little exploration, stroking her belly before venturing higher – and stopping himself, reminded that she hadn’t wanted to make love last night. 

He moved his hand to her back, instead, petting and massaging her. Curling in tighter to her, he kissed her neck, his leg drawing up over hers just enough to encase her further. He liked this, liked that he could almost totally enfold her in his embrace. 

It made him feel like he was _her_ shell. 

…It was also starting to arouse him. A naughty thought entered his mind, then: he’d bet he could masturbate without ever waking her up. 

Honestly, it was shameful how much that thought tempted him. It’d be so easy. He could just pull open the ties of his shorts, shift a little more to his back – it’d be even more uncomfortable, but it’d give him room to work – and have at it. With her scent in his nose, it’d be even easier. 

Just _thinking_ about it was starting a pressure inside him, the idea so seductive… 

But, oh, it’d be so cruel to pleasure himself and not her. To be fair, he’d have to give her the same treatment. Hell, he could do both at once – just shuffle down until his mouth was between her legs, then start lavishing her while he stroked himself. 

He wanted it. He wanted to do it so bad, and even more so when he thought _that_ would probably wake her up. She’d love it, he knew; waking up with his mouth on her, bringing her to orgasm first thing in the morning. 

The reasons he shouldn’t do this were steadily falling away. Lost in his reverie, his hand started petting her thigh, so caught up envisioning what he wanted to do that he failed to notice her breathing grow sharper. He found himself sucking at her neck – she _had_ asked for a matching set, after all – his free arm moving to prop him up so he had better access. 

She started shifting against him, hips moving in tandem with his petting. Before he knew it, his fingers were stroking her juncture through her panties. And she started whimpering, her hand suddenly at his neck, nails scraping at him. 

He jolted when he realized he’d woken her. But when he made to stop, drawing back, she whined, “Oh, don’t stop…” 

Her eyes were unfocused as she looked up at him, starting a struggle inside him. Yeah, she asked him not to stop – but she was also in her half-sleep state. He couldn’t take the invitation at face value. 

A part of him felt ridiculous for hesitating when he’d just been fantasizing about giving her oral while she slept, especially considering he knew she’d have loved it, but he wouldn’t have _done_ it – not without her permission. 

That’s the critical difference between fantasy and reality, after all. And right now her judgement couldn’t be trusted. 

Guilt assailed him. God, what had gotten into him? Fondling her in her sleep like that – it was _low_. Ashamed of himself, he shook his head, saying, “I can’t…” He sighed, then started to climb out of bed. 

“What? No,” she said, catching his arm and tugging. “Come back, kiss me,” she begged. 

_Fuck,_ that was hard to resist. He gave her a pained look as he got to his feet; she followed him up to her knees, hands seizing him by the neck and pulling. Well, he reasoned, he _could_ still _kiss_ her… 

She looked so inviting, in nothing but her shirt and panties and eyes on his mouth. 

Raphael doubted anyone could have resisted her right then. _He_ sure couldn’t; drawn in by her power, he leaned down to kiss her, a shiver running through him as he realized this was their first kiss of the day. 

And then she leaned back and he followed her down, her thighs parting to cradle him. Need pulsed through him, making his heart hammer and his dick throb, demanding to be let out. He told himself that he couldn’t – shouldn’t – do this, not here and not now, not with Jocelyn having just woken up. Her mind would be muddied, her reasoning inhibited. 

But her lips told him a different story. She opened her mouth against him, giving his lips a teasing lick before he met her halfway. 

He gave in, totally seduced by her tongue and her warmth and her needy scent. She hadn’t wanted to do this last night, but clearly things had changed by the morning. Her fingers stroked and scratched at him in her familiar I-need-this way, breaking down the last of his resistance. 

_You win,_ he thought as he slipped a hand down her panties and began to pet her. She gasped against his mouth, shuddering under him and stoking the fire in him until it was burning him. God, she was already slick, her body weeping for his attention. 

Recalling what he’d wanted since last night, what he’d been imagining just a minute prior, hounded him. He ached to put his mouth where his hand was, wanting it so bad it was making him pant. 

“Jocelyn,” he murmured against her lips. She mewled, her own hand undoing the ties of his shorts. _Ask her,_ he told himself, breaking the kiss – she whined, bit her lip; eyes pleading him for more. “I wanna eat you out,” he told her. 

Her eyes lit up and she gasped, every inch of her screaming _do it!_ at him. “Yes,” she breathed. 

As soon as she gave him that verbal approval he was moving down, brushing her shirt up to give her tits a few sucks as he went. Once he was down on his knees, he pulled her panties off, and _fuck_ , this was his first time seeing her so clearly. 

Her legs fell open for him, utterly shameless, and for a moment he was held in stun – her flesh here was so gorgeous and inviting, and a part of him almost believed he was dreaming. He _had_ to be, that part said; there was just no way he was this lucky. 

And she was watching him, her eyes excited and focused. Her breaths were sharp and shallow, her nipples hard, her pussy wet; she ran her hands over her inner thighs, seductive and inviting. It made him shudder. 

He couldn’t help taking a moment to part her folds and see everything, memorizing how her tanned skin faded to pink in the very center and the exact size and shape of every part of her. And then he was on her, pulling her closer to the edge of the bed by the hips as he dove in. 

Fucking _hell_ , he’d been right – tasting her like this, getting her flavor from the source with no transfer, it was _incredible_. Her smooth, soft skin even _felt_ amazing as his tongue stroked her, combining with her breathless cries and the sight of her twisting before him until he felt drunk. 

One hand held her hips where he wanted them, the other diving into his shorts to stroke himself as his cock emerged, far too lost in lust to be able to hold it back any longer. All thoughts fled his mind except the few required to focus on his task; nothing existed beyond his room, his bed, his lover. 

She writhed as he worked, hands gripping the blanket, her feet sliding over his shell and sending vibrations down his spine. Even _that_ added to his arousal, making him lick and suck at her harder. Judging from her pleased gasp, she liked that. 

He did it more; she started talking, broken and breathless statements agreeing with his actions and begging him for more. And while his masturbating felt good, it didn’t feel as good as _this_. He soon abandoned his self-pleasuring to grasp her thighs and devour her without any divided attention. 

It didn’t take long for her come, calling out, “Oh, god, baby!” as she crashed through, the knowledge sending a shudder through him. Was it his imagination, or had she just _gushed_ against his tongue? He licked her deeper, sucked her harder; she gave a strangled, whimpering yell, thighs tightening against his neck. 

He held her still as her hips started undulating, seeking more. He didn’t want to stop, even though he knew he’d have to; her sensitive pussy could only take so much attention. By the time he withdrew, giving her clit a last suck as he went, she was quivering. 

With a moan, she murmured, “ _Fuck_ , baby…gonna have me addicted to that mouth…” 

He grinned, a whole different kind of pleasure flooding him. He crawled over her to kiss her again, knowing by now that she didn’t mind after-coitus kissing. He was still hard and throbbing with need, but he attended to her first. She met him with fervor, not at all deterred by her lingering flavor in his mouth. 

Then, a hand at his chest, Jocelyn gave him a push. Her eyes were hot and hungry as she told him, “Lay back.” 

Knowing where this was going erased any doubts or hesitations; he was on the bed and reclining in a second. His dancer was on him the next, hands cradling his cock as she set in to lick and suck at him. She hummed as she worked, revealing just how much she loved this. She was _eager_ , and that just made his hunger worse. 

Aroused as he was, he didn’t even bother trying to fight it. He wanted to climax too much to resist her, too much to make it last. Judging by how fervently she was going at it, she wanted it too. His little lover had shown, time and again, that she loved the taste of him – as he did her. 

So he let her have it, not even giving the tissue box a glance. She’d drink him down and enjoy every drop. 

Her every little motion sent heat and pleasure coiling through him, his mind receding further and further with time. With her taste still in his mouth he was already at the edge. It took mere moments before the pressure coalesced and he let it out without any resistance, warning her a second ahead of time with a struggled, “Jocelyn, now..!” 

As his cum surged forth, she moaned, swallowing it all too willingly. He was getting better at controlling himself when he came, too; he barely bucked at all as the pleasure dominated him, wringing shudders from him and making him aware of his pulse in every inch of him. Her tongue laved at him, lips sucking as if she just couldn’t wait for it to come out on its own. 

And it felt amazing, her hands and mouth causing constant shots of pleasure to ricochet through him. It made him wonder how it’d feel if – _when_ – they crossed that final step and he could empty himself inside her willing body. Fuck, that thought lit a fire in him every damn time it came to mind. 

As always, she gave his cock a long, slow squeeze once it was done, drawing out a last drop and licking it up; he jolted from the sensation on his now over-sensitive penis. He liked how she did that, how she went that last inch just to get a final taste of him. 

He groaned, his spinning mind settling in the aftermath. Jocelyn chuckled low, nuzzling into his side; he absently stroked her arm, relaxation flooding his muscles. 

Lifting her head, she purred, “One of these days I’m gonna make you come _first_.” 

“Never,” he swore with a devious smile. 

* * *

Well, that was _one_ way to start the morning, Jocelyn mused. She’d awoken to such sweet pleasure thrumming through her, and for a second she thought she was still dreaming – not that she could recall her dream at this point. It’d fled the moment her mind came to. 

To say she was in a good mood would be an understatement. Maybe it was a culmination of events; she’d slept well, her boyfriend gave her an orgasm first thing in the morning, and strangely, her crying last night had lifted a weight off her she hadn’t known was there. Whatever the reason, she felt _great_. 

Though she was still confused about why she’d resisted him last night. Probably it was just that his friskiness was too soon after she’d recovered, but she also had the suspicion that her realization was partly to blame. 

Realizing she was in love with him had left her partly shaken all night, her nerves never quite settling – though she’d done a good job hiding that, she thought. 

When he’d asked her how she felt after she refused him, the only thing she could think was, _I don’t want to ruin this_. Which was why she’d given him that song instead of answering; the lyrics had kept going around in her head, all but pestering her until she’d suggested it. 

And she’d bet money that some time after she’d gone to bed, he’d gone to look it up. That meant he probably got it, now. 

Once she’d gotten nice and rested, though, everything seemed to fall back into place. It probably helped that he’d woken her up by giving her those delicious pets – _god_ that was sexy as hell. He could wake her up like that every morning from today till the apocalypse and she’d never get tired of it. 

And, _fuck_ , his mouth! (Or, alternatively, _fuck_ his mouth; both were accurate.) He must’ve been doing some research on the topic, because he’d aroused her to hell and back, devouring her like a sundae with a cherry on top. She’d tried to return the favor, but she got the impression that he was just better at it. 

Naturally-talented little fuck – well, _big_ fuck, to be accurate. A part of her was jealous, but the rest felt blessed. 

She had that mouth and those hands all to herself, devoted to her – not to mention his delicious cock. It was all hers. 

God, that thought alone was going to get her going all over again. 

And she noticed, as she lazed against him, that he _still_ wasn’t taking off his shorts and hadn’t let her see when his penis receded. She’d noticed that, though she hadn’t said anything yet: he never let her _see_ when it came out or went back in. She got how it worked, so she wasn’t grossed out or anything, but this was clearly another hurdle for them to conquer. He always positioned himself just so or cuddled and kissed her; anything to obstruct her line of sight. 

He still had _some_ misgivings about his body – or, more accurately, about the differences between his and a human’s – and wasn’t comfortable enough to let her see everything. She was trying to work on that with him, showing neither fear nor disgust over anything about him, including how his cock worked. 

She knew it embarrassed him whenever it came out, like it was involuntary on his part and showed a lack of control. Someday she hoped to prove to him that _involuntary_ reactions were a compliment to one’s lover; when his dick made an appearance, it meant he was drowning in lust – and what better way to fuel her own desire than that? 

She’d get it through to him eventually. 

Now that she was both awake and sated, however, yesterday’s events came back and she realized she’d have to go home soon. That argument she’d had with her mother…it’d been brutal, both of them hurting the other. She was going to have to try patching things up. 

As her mood began to drop, Raphael noticed. He sat up fully, making her withdraw as he did, and lifted her head to gaze into her eyes, concern evident in him. 

“You okay?” he asked. 

He probably thought she was regretting their _morning fun_. She shook her head to dispel his worries, answering, “Just thinking about my mom.” 

Understanding colored his features, and he nodded. “Want me to be there with you when you get home?” he offered. 

She blinked, surprised. “What? No,” she denied – he looked disappointed, and it hit her. “Ohh, you want to meet my mom…” How…unexpectedly adorable. 

“It’s only fair,” he reasoned. 

She gave him a weak smile. “Mom would freak out. I mean, no offense, but…she would freak.” 

At that, he looked confused. “ _You_ didn’t,” he pointed out. 

Baffled by that, she replied, “Well, no, but like…what?” What was he getting at? 

He scratched his neck, then explained, “Cecilia raised you, right? Alone,” he clarified. “If you’re cool with me, that would mean–”

It clicked. Interrupting him, she said, “Oh, trust me, me being chill has _nothing_ to do with how she raised me. Mom would probably piss herself, to be honest.” 

After all, for most people Raphael would be _terrifying_. His height, his muscles, his intimidating presence, his scowl – he was built to scare, had built _himself_ to scare. The only reason why Jocelyn hadn’t been was because he’d saved her life when they’d met. 

It probably also had something to do with the fact that she was already terrified anyway, and maybe a smidge because she’d be aware that someone was watching her for weeks. Granted, she’d never envisioned a mutant turtle as her admirer, but tacking a face to the feeling had been a relief. 

And he’d been so gentle with her. Her mind had been all but frozen from the fall, but she’d still been aware of how he’d held her, the chivalry in the way he’d put her down in her chair…and the caution, the fear, in his gaze. For a second after he’d put her down, they’d held gazes – her out of surprise and curiosity, him out of reluctance. 

She knew he’d deny it, but at that moment Raphael had wanted nothing more than to stay where he was and just _look_ at her. 

Analyzing that night had revealed a great number of things to her – and every one was flattering and heartening. 

Now he looked disappointed, even hurt; he glanced away from her. 

She’d underestimated how much this meant to him, clearly. So she moved in, kissing him on the neck. “I’m sorry, baby…but, look, I’ll talk to her, okay? Put out some feelers, see how she reacts.” 

He didn’t look much more hopeful, but when he brought his gaze back to her, he was at least appreciative. 

Then a voice carried over to them, Mikey’s exuberant tone preceding the room’s curtain getting yanked aside, “Hey, bro, you two up yet–”

Jocelyn was suddenly _very_ aware that she sat on Raphael’s bed in nothing but her flimsy shirt. 

Reacting almost too fast for her to follow, Raphael cut off Mikey by flinging a sai at the doorway – it collided ( _clang!_ ) with the archway right beside the youngest’s hand, hitting so hard it tore out a chunk of concrete and effectively stapled the curtain to the same spot before ricocheting off and getting embedded in the wall on the opposite side of the room. 

Though she’d ducked out of reflex, she needn’t have bothered; that throw was _perfect_ , leaving no one in the path of danger. Even Mikey’s hand was safe – though he still yanked it back. 

_“Fuck off!”_ Raphael snapped. 

There was a hesitation from behind the curtain, then a hurried, “Yeah you’re up okay see ya!” followed by retreating footsteps at a fast pace. 

Catching Raphael’s gaze, there was one more moment of stun and then Jocelyn dissolved into giggles, finally realizing how hard her heart was pounding. Holy shit, that was exciting! A rush of heat went through her, making her want to get frisky all over again. 

Her lover noticed, pinning her with a shocked look. Voice low, he bit out, “That _excited_ you?” 

She grinned, biting her bottom lip, and nodded. Giving a shudder, she shook it off, replying, “That’ll get the blood pumping.” 

He gave a half-scoff, half-laugh, then got off the bed with a shake of his head. He picked up her panties, giving them a lopsided grin and holding them out to her. But when she went to take them, he pulled them back, holding them up out of her reach. 

Grinning, herself, she kept trying to snatch them, but he was too quick – and too tall. Even on her knees on the bed, he still held them too high for her; she ended up giggling from the game as she made futile grabs. After a minute of this she gave up and flung herself at him, kissing him. 

God, he made her so happy. 

It took them a while before they left the room. Raphael wouldn’t give her back her panties, insisting that he be the one to put them on her, and for a while she fought him just for the fun of it. Eventually, however, she let him slip them on her, standing for him while he did so and loving how he ran his nose against her skin while he pulled them up…not to mention the way his hands caressed her as they went. 

Honest to god, he was the _best_. She’d fallen in love with the right man. 

They brushed their teeth – he let her use his toothbrush – and she put on her pants and undid her braid. Her shoes she just stuffed in her bag (it was mostly empty anyway), opting to stay barefoot for now. Why not? After all, Raphael was barefoot too – and he assured her that they kept the floors clean regardless. 

Then he handed her phone back to her, and she hesitated before turning it back on. 27 missed calls, 185 texts. 

All from her mother. The timestamps suggested Cecilia hadn’t gone to sleep. A part of Jocelyn felt bad about that, but the rest reminded her that Cecilia didn’t _have_ to be like that. She could’ve gone to bed, rested, and accepted that Jocelyn was perfectly safe. She could have trusted her daughter. 

And it was hard to feel too bad, as well, when Jocelyn read the texts – not a single one was reasonable or an apology. It was a list of 185 lines of anger, a constant rant about Jocelyn’s “promiscuous” nature and her “disobedient” tendencies. Cecilia hadn’t stayed up out of worry – she’d stayed up out of anger. 

Even the few messages that started with “I understand” ended with some insult towards her. Her mother was unstable, Jocelyn realized with a sinking heart. It’d never been this bad before. 

Although she’d promised Raphael she’d try and find a way to introduce them, she just knew it wouldn’t work. Her mother’s paranoia was getting worse. Meeting Raphael and his family could only end in disaster. For his sake she’d still try, of course, but she held no hope for a flowery ending. 

At first, when the pair of them joined the others for breakfast, the brothers looked suspicious, curious, awkward, even teasing – but that faded the longer she stayed on her phone, reading the texts her mother had sent. They could be copy and pasted into a book titled _Things You Shouldn’t Say To Your Daughter_. Her mood just kept on dropping with each one, but she was determined to read them all anyway. 

Until Raphael reached over and took the phone from her hands, effectively stopping the tide of negativity. 

“No phones at the breakfast table,” he quipped. 

She laughed, her spirits lifting just like that.


	18. Mrs. Delaghy

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing)

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* * *

* * *

Breakfast was…amusing, once Jocelyn’s phone was taken out of the picture. Just like typical brothers, they each razzed Raphael for ‘lazing in bed’ that morning – and Leo directly asked Jocelyn if she’d ‘slept well’. Unfortunately for him, he hadn’t yet caught on that she was shameless; she would embarrass absolutely anyone before they got a chance to embarrass _her_. 

She quipped that she’d slept better than _anyone else_ in the vicinity, and Leo choked on a laugh. Good to know that Raphael wasn’t the only one of the brothers with that kind of predilection. 

Overall, it was fun – even if she _did_ have to clasp Raphael’s hand every so often to keep him from launching himself over the table at one of his brothers. 

As everything wound down, though, she happened to glance over at Mikey, (sitting on her right) and noticed a tattoo on his forearm she hadn’t seen before. Tilting her head, she realized it was script – flowery, looping, and utterly breathtaking. 

“…‘My family’?” she read. He glanced over at her as she realized what she was reading. “Raph, Donny, Leo – oh, my god!” she cooed, clasping her hands over her heart. “That is the _sweetest thing!”  
_

Michelangelo looked a little embarrassed, absently rubbing at the tattoo. Then he flipped his arm over, letting her see the inside where it read ‘Splinter’ and ‘April’. 

“ _Aww,_ ” she all but swooned. “Did you give yourself that tattoo?” she asked him, incredibly heartened by it. 

He shrugged, looking awkward. “It was my idea, but–”

“I did the tattooing,” Raphael cut in. 

She swung her gaze around to him (on her left), surprised. “So that’s _your_ handwriting?” she asked, impressed. 

He gave a shrug, as if it were no big deal…but she could see him preening under the surface. 

“You have gorgeous handwriting,” she approved. 

Outwardly, he didn’t react much other than to give a nod. Inwardly, she’d bet he was doing mental backflips. He played up the ‘tough guy’ routine _so much_ when he was around his brothers, it was almost comical. 

If they were alone, he would’ve been a grinning mess by now. 

And then a very particular song rang out, deep and dark – and Jocelyn’s mood seemed to ice over. Raphael pulled her cell from his pocket as she held out her hand to take it. 

But instead of handing it to her, _he answered it_. 

Her eyes bugged out, shocked rendering her speechless, as he lifted it to his ear and said, “Hello, Mrs. Delaghy.” 

What. The fuck. Was. He. _Thinking?!_

For several seconds, Jocelyn couldn’t react. From the corner of her eye, Leo looked stunned, too, and between him and Raphael sat Donatello – awkward and unsure. From her right, Mikey ventured, “Uhhh, bro…?” 

To the phone, Raphael was saying, “Sitting right next to me. We’re having breakfast.” 

“…Raphael, give me the phone,” she pressed. 

He gave her a quelling motion with his hand as he replied to something her mother said. “I don’t think so. You caused her a lot of distress,” he said, voice going hard. 

Oh, god. What was _happening?_ It was like her worst nightmare coming to life! Jocelyn made a grab for the phone; Raphael caught her wrist. “Give. Me. The. Phone,” she stressed. 

Meeting her gaze, he shook his head, deliberately denying her. 

Shock held her prisoner. He’d _never_ just disobeyed her like this. It was giving her a bit of insight into him that she hadn’t encountered before – namely that he freaking _took charge_ when he was in defense of her. A part of her found it hot, but right then, with the context… 

…this was bad. Talking to her mother? This couldn’t end well. They were going to fight and then it wouldn’t matter what Jocelyn said to her later – she’d never accept Raphael. 

She could hear her mother’s voice raising from the other end, and she knew it was going to reach a head if she didn’t stop it soon. 

When Raphael said to the phone, “There’s really no need for that kind of language,” she made another lunge for it, all but jumping out of her chair. This time he spun her around and pulled, and she found herself suddenly sitting on his thigh with his hand holding her wrists together. 

Stuck. 

“Raphael,” he answered, then paused as her mother spoke. “Now why would you ask my last name?”

“She wants to do a background check!” Jocelyn told him, frustrated. “Now let me go and give me the god damn phone!” 

He gave her a look that said _not a chance_. To her mother, he was saying, “Yeah, that’s her.” A pause. “Well, to be blunt, I don’t like the way you been talking to her… _A mother_ ,” he countered sharply, “shouldn’t cause her daughter so much pain.” 

_Fuck._ “I ain’t playin’!” she snapped at Raphael. “I swear if you don’t give me the _fucking phone_ right now–”

Ignoring her, he was saying, “Here’s an idea, how about we have this out in person?” 

She choked on a breath, then bit out, “Y-you…oh, my god, you’re in so much fuckin’ trouble…” Desperate for a way out of this trainwreck, she glanced at the brothers, pleading, “ _Someone_ get that phone from him!” 

Mikey awkwardly looked away, knowing better than to get between Raphael and something he wanted. Donny gave her a helpless shrug, wincing. Leo looked sympathetic, at least, but made no move to get up. He just said, “Raph, I think you better give her the phone back…” 

But while he was speaking, Raphael was talking into the cell, “Does ten work for you? …Good.” To her absolute horror, he finally pulled the phone from his ear – just to end the call. Releasing her wrists at last, he held out the phone to her. 

Numb, she took it, teetering between fury and disbelief and shock. 

And he said to her, “We’re meeting your mom at ten.” 

She gave a strangled laugh, unable to comprehend how this had all spiraled out of control so completely. “…You’re _so_ in the doghouse,” she muttered as she stared at the phone. 

“Worth it,” he quipped. 

* * *

This wasn’t _at all_ how Jocelyn had envisioned it. Rather than have Raphael take her straight home (daylight or not, he would’ve done it), she chose to have him wait at their usual meeting spot in the subway. And despite being totally against it, his brothers unanimously decided to join him. 

It taught her something vital: she was absolutely _powerless_ when they allied themselves. Now she understood how they’d managed to _save the fucking world_ on multiple occasions: the moment they stood together on a topic, they were unstoppable. 

It made her wish she’d had siblings like that, but alas, Jocelyn was an only child. She’d never have what _they_ did. 

She at least managed to get it through to them that they should remain hidden and let her call them out when she felt it’d work best. And maybe they were just making a point, but after agreeing with her directive, they vanished the moment she turned her back. When she glanced back a few seconds later, they were _gone_. 

“Show-offs,” she muttered as she left the subway. Her feet dragged a little as she went, this whole idea feeling worse with every step she took. She wanted so badly to turn back around and call the whole thing off. 

And she realized, as her apartment building came into sight, that her mother had probably burnt something of hers. Cecilia did that when she was upset sometimes – like she was making a point by destroying something that belonged to Jocelyn, stressing the fragile nature of possessions and their attached memories. 

_The mother giveth, and the mother taketh away,_ she thought wryly. 

The last time this had happened, Cecilia had burnt Jocelyn’s first ever blue ribbon. She’d won it in a talent show in third grade, putting on a dance show with Cassie and two other girls who’d moved out of state since then. It’d remained one of her favorite objects…right up until her mother had set it aflame. 

Dealing with her mother’s moods had taught Jocelyn early on to let go of the material world. A morbid part of her even compared her father’s cremation to this predilection, but that was just silly. Her father had chosen to be cremated – once his organs had been harvested and donated. Even in death, he’d done all he could to help the health of others. 

By the time Jocelyn reached her door, her heart was pounding, afraid of what she’d find. She turned the knob; it opened, the locks open. Taking a steadying breath, she strode in, glancing first to the living room. Empty. 

That was bad. 

Hesitant, she went for her room, the door wide open. But what she saw when she got there erased her fear. 

Cecilia sat on her bed, holding one of Jocelyn’s old stuffed animals – Bunbun the rabbit, given to her when she was still a toddler by her father. It was dark pink and velvety, even after all these years. 

“Mom…” Jocelyn breathed. 

Cecilia glanced up, her eyes watery. Lifting the rabbit to her chest, she asked, “Why do you hate me?” 

_I’d rather have Dad than you,_ Jocelyn had said. And now she was seeing the consequences of her hurtful words. Her own eyes starting to sting, she dropped her bag and joined her mother on her bed, hugging her. “I don’t hate you, Mom…” she murmured. 

Embracing her back, Cecilia said, “I’m sorry, love…I’m sorry I hurt you…” 

Tears threatening, Jo replied, “I’m sorry too, Mom.” 

“I miss your father…he’d know what to do,” Cecilia hiccuped. 

“Don’t cry, Mom,” Jocelyn pleaded, “you’re gonna make _me_ cry…” 

At that, Cecilia looked up, surprised; her eyelashes were already clumping from her tears. “You don’t cry,” she said. 

Giving her a watery smile, Jo corrected, “I do now.” 

Taking a steadying breath, Cecilia looked at her doorway and back. “Where’s your boyfriend? He said he’d be here,” she reminded Jo. 

“He’s waiting for us to come to him,” Jocelyn told her, taking a moment to wipe at the moisture in her eyes – having to set aside her glasses to do it. “He, uh…just so you’re not surprised, he brought his brothers, too.” 

Cecilia hesitated, then nodded. “Okay,” she said at length, uncertain. 

Shaking off her emotion, Jocelyn got up. “I need to take a shower real quick, okay? Then we can go.” 

Nodding, Cecilia rose to her feet. “I should get ready, then.” 

As she started to leave, however, Jo reached out and caught her hand. “Mom…I love you. You know that, right?” 

Giving her a fragile smile, Cecilia replied, “I know, love. And I love you, too.” 

The two parted ways then, Cecilia heading to her bedroom while Jocelyn showered off – trying to keep her hair out of the water as she did so. Drying it would take _way_ too long. Afterwards she dressed as simply and quickly as she could, picking a white t-shirt with a purple heart design and jean shorts because they’d been on top of the stacks when she pulled out her drawers. 

Once she got her sneakers on she met her mother in the hallway. By comparison to her hurried self, Cecilia looked majestic: fine clothing, perfect makeup, slip-on heels. 

Pointing at the shoes, Jo commented, “That’s probably a bad idea. Where we’re going the ground is gravel-y.” 

“It’s fine,” Cecilia told her, reminding Jo way too much of herself. 

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Jo told her. They clasped hands as they left, and both were utterly silent during the walk. 

At least until Jo led them to the subway. Then Cecilia quipped, “If this Raphael had more respect, he’d meet us somewhere that _didn’t_ require the subway.” 

“We’re not taking the subway anywhere,” Jo told her, feeling defensive of her beau. “This is where we’re meeting him…them,” she corrected. 

Her nerves were skyrocketing just thinking about it. Every step felt more and more like she was walking to her own doom. But this was the way things had been set up and she couldn’t just chicken out now. 

She supposed she _could_ have led her mother somewhere else and played dumb, acting surprised when Raphael wasn’t there – but she suspected he’d have found them somehow. Even if they were out in the middle of nowhere, she could just see him striding up to them, all, _Hi Mrs. Delaghy, I’m Raphael. Nice to meet you.  
_

After all, he was _determined_ to have this introduction. He’d made that abundantly clear on the way back, constantly shooting down her refusals and quelling her concerns. 

He was still in heaps of trouble for what he’d done, but for now Jo had little choice but to go through with the whole (idiotic) plan. 

Once they were at the station, Cecilia deadpanned, “Oh, we’re _not_ taking the subway, huh?” 

“Nope,” Jo agreed, leading her off the platform. 

Cecilia hesitated to follow when Jo jumped down, snapping, “What are you doing? That’s dangerous! Get up here!” 

Their window to make it down here unnoticed was small, so Jocelyn hissed at her, “Just come here!” She held up her hand to help her mother down. 

God, this was such a bad idea, she lamented. 

After glancing this way and that, growing increasingly nervous, Cecilia took her hand and shuffled down on her rear. Equally scared and concerned, her mother held on tight to Jo’s hand. “ _Why_ is your boyfriend insisting on meeting us here?” she demanded. 

“Actually, _I_ insisted it,” Jo told her. “He wanted to come up to the apartment.” 

Confused, Cecilia queried, _“Why?_ ”

Hesitating, Jocelyn answered, “Because he’s…not outdoor-friendly.” 

Alarmed now, Cecilia halted Jo’s advance with a hard tug at her hand. “What have you gotten yourself into?” she snapped, concern and anger mingling in her tone. 

When Jocelyn hesitated to answer, having a hard time coming up with something that couldn’t be taken negatively, a voice reached them. 

“You made it.” 

Mother and daughter both froze, equally petrified – Jocelyn because this was the moment she’d been fearing most, and Cecilia because of the hints she’d been given. 

Neither of them wanted to take another step. 

* * *

It’d taken longer for them to show up than Raphael had anticipated. But when Jocelyn approached, he understood why: she’d showered. God, she smelled even better now than she had this morning! 

The pair couldn’t see him, but he was watching as Jocelyn led Cecilia down the path, the two speaking. He couldn’t help a smirk when his lover called him “not outdoor-friendly”. That was clever. 

Then they stopped, Cecilia obviously fearing what lay ahead. The rest was up to him, then. He was nervous, he admitted – he was meeting his girlfriend’s mother. Saving citizens from criminals was easy by comparison to this. In the end neither of them needed Cecilia’s approval to continue their relationship, but he damn well wanted it. 

He wasn’t going to fool himself into thinking it wouldn’t be hard-won, though. 

After getting their attention, he stepped out, intentionally coming to stand under a light and meeting Cecilia’s gaze. “Hey, Mrs. Delaghy,” he greeted. “I’m Raphael.” 

When he glanced at Jocelyn to read her reaction, he saw her looking terrified. 

For a long moment, Cecilia was too stunned to react. Her eyes just kept getting wider the longer she stared at Raphael, and he let her have all the time she needed. He wanted to get this right. 

Then Jocelyn reached out to her mother, saying, “Mom…?” 

The moment her hand touched Cecilia’s shoulder, the smaller woman shrieked and jolted, then seized Jocelyn and started pulling her away. 

It was disappointing, even hurtful, but Jocelyn _had_ warned him about this. While he shook his head, no longer surprised by these reactions but never quite able to get over the pain of it, Jocelyn was trying to calm her mother. 

“Mom, Mom it’s okay, this is okay, calm down,” she was saying. 

Cecilia wasn’t hearing it. “Jo-Jocelyn,” she was saying, panicked, “y-you have to get away…come here…th-that’s a monster!” 

That word always hit him like a blow, but hearing it come from his girlfriend’s mother made it sting all the worse. His shoulders slumped; he looked away. 

Then he heard a _slap_ and his gaze snapped up, realizing that Jocelyn had just slapped her _mother_. Jumping to his defense? Her eyes were hard, focused; she looked like a warrior. _His_ warrior. 

God, he loved her. 

That thought rocked him, the truth crashing into him all at once. It was like going from solid ground to ice in a heartbeat, and he struggled to regain his footing. Luckily Jocelyn was distracted right then, otherwise she no doubt would’ve seen how he felt at a single glance. 

Suddenly he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her – her fierce eyes, her wild hair, her warm skin. His thoughts rather unhelpfully started pointing out all of her features, from her ballerina’s grace to her teenage attitude to her smart tongue to her passionate kiss. He’d thought before that she must’ve been tailor-made for him, and now it hit him just how quickly he’d fallen for her. 

Fuck, was his heart _fluttering?_ How freakin’ embarrassing…

“Get a hold of yourself,” she snapped at her mother. “Are you seriously going to act like a common sheep? _You?_ ”

Cecilia was floundering for a response, shaky, her attention split between Raphael and Jocelyn. “Th-that…you…”

“ _He,_ ” Jocelyn corrected. “He’s my _boyfriend_ , Mom. We’re dating. And you’re gonna have to deal with that.” 

He couldn’t help giving her a lopsided grin, so lost in emotion for her he had to check constant impulses to kiss her. That thought led to another, however: he could probably help drive this point home if he backed up Jocelyn. 

He stepped up behind her, one hand settling at her waist. He towered over her, surrounding her from all sides, and he knew her mother was seeing that all too clearly. 

But she fit her hand to his, looking up at him with a smile, and he knew he’d made the right choice. He smiled back. 

Cecilia was backed up against the wall by now, caught between the instinct to run and the instinct to protect her young from the look of her. Reaching out a hand, she choked out, “J-Jocelyn, y-you need to…get away…” 

“I really don’t, Mom,” Jocelyn replied, so sure of herself Raphael couldn’t help but enfold her in his embrace. “I know this is hard to grasp…I had a hard time of it, too,” she offered. “But this is real. He’s not a monster, Mom, he’s…” She paused, and it was on the tip of his tongue to say ‘turtle’ for her. 

But Jocelyn finished her statement, saying, “He’s my lover.” 

A sweet, filling warmth surged in him at the words. He ducked his head down, pressing his nose into her hair, for a moment so lost in affection for her that everything else faded away. This close, that just-washed scent of hers was all the more tantalizing. It made his head swim. 

And then, disbelieving, Cecilia echoed, “L-lover? Jocelyn – _look_ at him,” she demanded. 

At least she’d said ‘him’ this time, he mused dryly. 

“I’m one hundred percent aware of what he looks like, Mom,” Jocelyn told her. Then, after a moment of thought, she said, “Ask how we met, Mom.” 

Cecilia was clearly coming down from her shock, but in its place anger seemed to be rising. “What, down here?” she sneered. “What were you even doing down here, buying drugs?!” 

Jocelyn huffed. “No, Mom. Just _ask_.” 

Aggravated, her mother spat, “How did you meet?” 

Raphael recognized that sequence – he’d thought it was a game Jocelyn liked to play, telling someone to ask her a specified query. She’d done it to him numerous times. But now he was getting the idea that her mother had taught her to do it, that it had something to do with her mother’s lawyer studies. 

He found that oddly cute. 

“He saved my life,” Jocelyn answered, quiet. 

He’d told his brothers as much, but when Jocelyn said it, he could hear them shifting from their hiding places. Either they’d forgotten – unlikely – or they’d heard the same thing he had: 

The gratitude, the depth, in Jocelyn’s voice. That night clearly meant more to her than she’d ever let him know. 

Cecilia’s stun returned at those words. She ventured, “Your…life? What happened?” 

Her concern was overriding all else, Raphael saw. The next time she lifted her brown gaze to _him_ , it was with a measure of surprise. 

Hesitating, Jocelyn explained, “I fell off the roof, Mom. I did something stupid and almost died for it. Raphael caught me. I’d be dead right now if it weren’t for him.” 

This was obviously not what Cecilia had been expecting. Her gaze turned watery, emotion welling up. “That’s…okay, okay,” she chanted, as if calming herself. It must be hard for her, coming to terms with the knowledge that her daughter had nearly died. “But, Jocelyn, you don’t…” She hesitated, sending Raphael a wary glance, then went on, “You don’t have to _date_ him because he saved you.” 

“I’m not, Mom,” Jocelyn replied with a shake of her head. “I’m dating him because I _want_ to. Because I like him, and…” She cut herself off, hesitating, and it made Raphael’s heart do a flip. 

What was she thinking? What had she been about to say? His arms tightened around her, hands pressing against her to bring her closer. They shared a look, and he could swear he saw a depth in them that hadn’t been there before. 

God, was she in love with him, too? He ached to believe it, even as fear prevented it. He couldn’t…shouldn’t…assume, but oh, how he wanted it to be true. 

Focusing back on her mother, Jocelyn finished, “This is my choice, Mom. It doesn’t matter what you say or what you think. I know you’re having a hard time seeing below the surface, but I promise you, Mom, Raphael is a good man,” she intoned, stressing all the right words. 

He wanted to kiss her so bad right then. He dropped his head again, hunching so he could nuzzle against her neck. Damn, she made him so fucking happy… 

Sensing it was the right time, his brothers emerged to join him. At once Cecilia’s fear returned, surging back up until she had flattened herself as much as she could against the wall. 

“I’ll agree with that one,” Donny said as he came to stand beside Raph. 

On his other side, Leo added, “To be honest, ma’am, your daughter couldn’t be in better hands.” 

As Mikey joined them, he commented, “And to be fair, Raph couldn’t be, either.” 

It warmed him to have his brothers speak of him like that. He was still pissed they’d teased him so much over breakfast, but he knew they had his back when it counted. 

There they stood, four mutant turtles, side by side, letting Cecilia get a good look at them. And Jocelyn, wrapped in Raphael’s arms, was totally comfortable. She trusted them all without any hesitation. She even reached up, stroking his neck and cheek – a move he took as being as much for Cecilia’s benefit as it was simple impulse. She wanted to touch him, and he loved it. 

Now that her mother was seeing them all in greater detail, though, she choked out, “What _are_ you…?” 

The brothers sent each other glances before Raphael started explaining. 

“Well, Mrs. Delaghy,” he started, “we’re turtles…”


	19. Resolutions

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing)

* * *

* * *

* * *

After three years of this song and dance, the brothers got pretty damn good at explaining themselves. They covered their origins, their mutation, their lifestyle, their goals, their father – all in the simplest terms. The story was so efficiently told that it hardly took ten minutes of time. 

By then, Jocelyn had pulled her mother to a platform and sat her down. Raphael recognized _that_ sequence, too; she’d done it to him just yesterday evening. Watching her interact with her mother was showing him a lot about her that he hadn’t seen before. 

Seeing them side by side, too, was a first, and he took the time to analyze them. Jocelyn had her mother’s nose and jaw and cheeks. Their lips were identical. Her mother’s hair was straight (though that could’ve been some kind of treatment and he’d never know the difference) and dark brown, and her skin was notably darker than Jocelyn’s. Their only differences seemed to be Jocelyn’s bright blonde hair and lighter skin, her green eyes, and their heights. 

And her mother didn’t look all that much older than her. They looked more like sisters than anything; Cecilia had no notable wrinkles or lines to betray her age. If Jocelyn followed her example, then in another twenty years she won’t have changed at all. 

He liked that. 

Cecilia was having a hard time grasping everything, but at least she hadn’t fainted. It happened a lot with women – and even with men, for that matter. Jocelyn had given her mother her hand, which the older woman was gripping _way_ too tightly. It was obviously hurting Jocelyn (which, to be honest, was upsetting _him_ to see), but she wasn’t withdrawing. 

At length, Cecilia took a shaky breath, looking the brothers over once more. When her gaze landed on Raphael, it stuck, and he could see her disapproval. 

_Damn it._

“So my daughter is dating a mutant,” she deadpanned. 

He couldn’t help a huff; he’d been hoping she’d have seen beyond that part by now. 

And then Jocelyn commented, “A damn fine mutant,” and he chuckled. She was too good at that: taking the parts of him he’d never really liked and turning them into compliments. So far her acceptance of him had been complete; she’d never rejected or even hesitated over him. 

Cecilia was less amused, giving her daughter a sharp look. “You realize this could ruin your life?” 

Tisking, Jocelyn rolled her eyes. “Oh, like having a kid at twenty ruined yours?” she quipped. 

Narrowing her eyes, her mother snapped, “I was an adult, capable of making my own decision–” 

Raphael already knew where _this_ was going, and he had to check an urge to grin. This was going to be beautiful… 

Cutting her off, Jocelyn shot back, “ _I’m_ an adult, capable of deciding who I wanna date!” 

“You’re not even eighteen!” Cecilia pointed out. 

_Here it comes…_

“Six months!” Jocelyn declared. “I have _one_ year left of high school, Mom, and then you know what? I’ll not only be free to choose what I wanna do, but I’ll be _forced_ to. You know what’d be really cool? If I could start making those choices _now_ instead of getting it thrown at me the day after graduation!” 

Grinning to himself, Raphael thought, _The storm rages…_ God, he loved how she ranted. 

“You’re not old enough to–” Cecilia started, getting cut off when Jocelyn tossed her head and scoffed. Practically boiling, her mother snapped, “For _once_ , listen to your mother!” 

“Like you listen to _me?”_ Jocelyn returned. 

By now Raphael was amused, but his brothers were massively uncomfortable. Witnessing this mother-daughter fight was obviously not sitting well with them. Catching their attention, Raph inclined his head, letting them know they could take off now. 

Subtly, Leo shook his head. Raph saw matching looks on all three of them: determination. They were uncomfortable, but they weren’t letting him face this alone. 

After a moment, Raph nodded to them in acknowledgement and thanks. 

Struggling for calm, Cecilia took a deep breath, then started over. “I just don’t want you making a mistake.” 

“This isn’t a mistake,” Jocelyn told her, gentling in response to her mother calming. 

“Jocelyn, love…” Cecilia began, hesitant. She glanced at the brothers in turn, then back to Jocelyn, finishing, “You heard them…their lives are _dangerous_. You could get hurt, you could…” She cut herself off there, concern stopping her from saying another word. 

“Mom…” Jocelyn sighed. She sent Raph a look; he returned it with a measure of fear. 

She could _die_ for being with him. 

Cutting in, Leonardo spoke up. “Ma’am, you don’t have to worry about that. We’d never let her get hurt.” 

“We have precautions in place,” Donatello added with a nod. “We’re constantly updating and strengthening them, too. No one’s ever been hurt because of us.” 

“No one ever _will_ ,” Mikey continued. “Jo’s safe with us.” 

“More specifically, she’s safe with _Raph_ ,” Donny pointed out. 

Shaking his head, Leo agreed, “She really couldn’t have chosen a more… _protective_ boyfriend.” That hesitation suggested a few _other_ words went through Leo’s head before he picked one. 

Raph sent him a glower; Leo shrugged as if saying, _You know it’s true._

Speaking for himself, Raphael started, “Cecilia, I…I double-check. I never just come to see her. I always look for an’ deal with any threats first. I ain’t ever letting her get in trouble cause of me.” 

That was something he hadn’t told Jocelyn – the part about dealing with threats. Yeah, sometimes he noticed certain undesirable people looking for him or following him, and he always, _always_ , handled it before letting himself go to see her. Over the last few months, it’d happened a handful of times. 

Until now, Jocelyn had never known. And now she looked stunned, wide eyes on him, and he held her gaze so she’d know this wasn’t a lie. He’d already started protecting her and she never even knew it. 

Now that she _did_ , though, he expected she’d have things to say about it later. 

When Cecilia remained hesitant, he revealed one more thing: “Have you noticed the crime rate around your apartment has dropped in the last few months?” 

Both women looked equally shocked as the revelation hit them. _Yeah, that’s right,_ he thought, _that was me._ He’d begun patrolling her street in an almost instinctive preventative measure; he wanted her to be safe, so he’d made the area around her _home_ safe. That street was safer than it’d been in decades thanks to him. 

Granted, the entire _city_ was safer than it’d been in months thanks to _them_ , but Jocelyn’s specific three-block radius was all him. He couldn’t resist the urge to lift his chin, pride filling him, as he held Jocelyn’s gaze. _I got you,_ he thought, all but projecting it at her. 

He could feel three pairs of eyes boring into him while the women grasped at the weight of his words, and when he looked, he saw his brothers wore identical surprised expressions. He shrugged, all, _Yeah, so what?  
_

Almost in unison, his brothers looked away, heads shaking and shoulders shrugging. 

Clearing her throat, Jocelyn turned back to her mother, saying, “S-so, Mom, there you have it. Safer than I’ve never been.” 

Cecilia looked down, brows drawn in thought. Then she got up from her spot, looked at the turtles once more, and said, “It was very nice meeting you. Come here, Jocelyn. I need to talk to you. Alone,” she stressed. 

Huffing a sigh, Jocelyn hopped to her feet and nodded. “Sure, Mom.” Then, probably just for the show of it, she turned to Raphael and gestured him closer. Leaning down to her – in full view of _everyone_ – he kissed her, their arms winding around each other. 

They both intentionally let it linger, and she surprised him when she licked him, demanding entrance. A part of him hesitated, feeling it was inappropriate – the rest reminded him of her own words: _I’d take you being naughty over nice any day._

Well, then. That settled it. He gave in, deepening the kiss and growing drunk from the taste of her. Someone gave an over-dramatic sigh; he responded by giving a _way_ -too-obvious thrust of his tongue into her mouth. 

Jocelyn was totally shameless, and she was definitely rubbing off on him. He wouldn’t have done this a week ago, wouldn’t have blatantly made out with her where his brothers could see. Not only would it incite their jealousy, but they’d react to that by teasing him and he knew it. 

Right now, though, he’d gladly take it. 

By the time Jocelyn withdrew several moments later – she licked and then bit her lips again, for fuck’s sake; that was too god damn sexy – their four unwilling voyeurs were looking uncomfortable as all hell. 

It made him grin. 

Eyes warm and lips smirking, she turned from him to head back to her mother. Cecilia huffed as she took her daughter’s hand, hauling her away from the brothers. She wasn’t saying anything, but by now Raph could guess what was coming next. 

He was kind of disappointed he wouldn’t be there to see it; he’d bet Jocelyn was about to talk her mother into a corner. 

In the meantime, however, he had three brothers to deal with. They were going to be all over his shell with comments and quips on the way back, he just knew it. 

…He was right. 

* * *

Shortly after getting back to the lair – a feat, that, considering Raphael had to keep stopping to throttle his brothers – he waylaid Donny, asking for a cell phone. Donny and Mikey both had one so far; Donny because he was their line to the outside world and Mikey because he wouldn’t stop pestering Donny about it until he got one. 

Until now, Raph and Leo had been content with their short-range radios. But he was getting frustrated that contacting Jocelyn required him to go through Donny every single damn time, so he wanted his own. 

It would also give him the freedom he needed to set up a date without making it too obvious to his brothers what he was up to, but Donny didn’t need to know that. 

Having no reason to turn him down, Donny said, “Uhh, sure. Give me a couple days, I’ll see what I can scrounge up.” 

Good enough. Nodding, Raph replied, “Thanks, little bro. And…sorry about the bruise.” 

Rubbing the tender flesh of his arm, Donny chuckled. “Eh, I had that one coming.” 

It was a good thing Raph had been pulling his punches, otherwise Donny would have a broken arm instead of a bruise. Mikey limped by right then but didn’t get an apology; his comment had been _way_ more invasive. He’d deserved that blow. 

Leo, on the other hand, was unscathed. Not because he hadn’t made comments – he absolutely had – but because Leo and Raph were nearly matched in skill. Raphael just couldn’t manage to land a hit on him. 

Even surprise attacks couldn’t catch Leo off-guard. Raph had damn well tried. 

Now, as he headed back to the weights room to work off the remainder of his annoyance, he went over the day’s events. Woke up to a vision of _yes_ in his grasp, exchanged orgasms with his girlfriend, got into an argument with his girlfriend’s mother over the phone, got chewed out by his girlfriend on the way to a meeting with said mother, met the mother (an event which was a god damn emotional roller coaster), realized he was _in love_ , and finally half-fought his irritating brothers for teasing him. 

A full day so far and it wasn’t even noon yet. 

God, falling in love was…weird. It’d thrown him for a loop, not unlike going from a shadowy corner to a brightly-lit day. It was hard to adjust to the change, to the sudden outpouring of light. His heart didn’t want to calm down, and maybe that was part of the reason why he chose to start working out: it gave him an excuse for his heart to be racing like it was. 

Honestly, he was relieved that Jocelyn and her mother had left when they had. If she’d chosen to stay with him, he just knew that at some point he’d have blurted it out and embarrassed himself. That revelation had left him too shaken, too…giddy. He hadn’t been able to keep his mind clear since it’d happened. 

The whole time they were talking to Cecilia, explaining and reasoning, Raphael’s mind had kept seizing on certain _thoughts_ with his beloved. Laying her back on the platform where she sat, nuzzling into her belly, sucking at her thighs…making her gasp and moan just because he wanted to hear it…

…removing their clothing so he could properly bring them together… 

She’d have let him, he knew. She’d have let him undress her, kiss her, _ready_ her – well, provided no one else was there to witness it. A part of him wanted to do it, to take that last step…but the rest was still too afraid of the consequences, the risks, the results; what if he hurt her? What if he was so bad at it she never wanted to do it again? What if it was too _good_ and it sidelined their entire relationship? What if an unseen issue occurred, something neither of them would have imagined? 

In the end, he was relieved they’d parted. It gave him time to order his thoughts, shoving out the fears and the clutter. He just hoped Jocelyn wouldn’t have a hard time dealing with her mother one-on-one. 

Just as he was getting into it, hammering away at the punching bag, Leonardo joined him. For a while Leo just held the punching bag for Raph or acted as his spotter. The longer the silence lasted, however, the more suspicious Raphael became. Eventually he abandoned the workout to face his brother. 

“‘Sup with you?” he demanded with a jut of his chin. 

Leonardo was deep in thought, his eyes betraying that a lot was going on in his head. For the eldest turtle, this was par for the course – no one could match Donny’s light-speed brain, but Leo was a close second. _Something_ was always brewing in his mind. 

Speaking up, Leo began, “Let me start by saying I was wrong. I’m sorry for the way I talked about Jo.” 

Lifting his chin, Raph regarded Leo with a mixture of surprise and doubt. Their argument yesterday had included Leo saying things like ‘be careful with her’ and ‘you don’t know as much as you think you do’. It’d been obvious that Leo was more than a little concerned, but at the time Raphael had been too incensed to see it. He’d leapt to Jocelyn’s defense in a heartbeat and blocked out everything else. 

“What brought this on?” Raph asked him. 

“Jo did, mostly,” Leo told him. “I know this is going to piss you off, but I did a background check on her…” 

Raph’s jaw clenched, his hands fisting. _Seriously?_ A background check? 

“…and I hacked her phone.” 

_That_ was a blow, and he almost lunged for Leo on an impulse. That was so – _low!_ It was dishonorable, which was kind of Leo’s most prized trait. That, alone, told Raph just how concerned his brother had been. But that revelation couldn’t stand against his need to defend Jocelyn, making him stride right up to Leo and get in his face. 

“You fuckin’ did _what?_ ” Raph demanded on a growl. 

To his surprise, Leo actually backed up a step. “I did something stupid,” he answered, face displaying regret. “I had concerns, but I should’ve just asked her directly. April did,” he mused. 

Right then, Raphael wanted nothing more than to pound his brother’s face in. But before he could lift his fist, Jocelyn’s voice came to mind. _Someone has to take the first step_ , she’d said, advising him to think of things from Leo’s point of view. 

He was aggravated and huffing, but he tried – swapping things around, would _he_ have reacted any differently? If Leo had gotten a girlfriend and Raph found her suspicious, how would he have handled that? 

The answer was too obvious. They were _ninja_ , accustomed to dealing with issues without being seen or revealing their actions. Underhanded methods were their signatures. 

Raph absolutely would have done a background check and hacked the non-existent girl’s phone. As he reached that conclusion, he huffed, admitting, “Fine, I get it. But from now on, you have questions, you ask me. Or her. Got it?” 

Leo looked stunned. That was as close to saying _I forgive you_ as Raph had ever gotten. “Got it. But did you…did you just _take her advice?_ ” he asked, putting two and two together. When Raph just shrugged, he commented dryly, “You take _her_ advice but not _mine_.” 

“ _Her_ advice makes sense,” Raph countered. 

For a split second it looked like Leo was going to roll his eyes – but instead, he turned thoughtful. “She gets you,” he said, as if realizing it right then. 

“That finally hit you?” Raph mocked. He’d thought it was obvious by now. Maybe it was how much they’d talked, Jocelyn and him, or maybe their personalities were aligned – not the same, but definitely easy to mesh. Reasoning aside, she always seemed to know how to handle him. 

She knew how to divert his attention, when it was okay to tease him and when it definitely wasn’t, what he needed to hear – and, more recently, she’d shown she could calm his rages. _That_ one had surprised even him. It’d been like her touch alone had drained all his fury, and her following embrace filled the emptiness left behind with affection. 

Not that he’d ever _admit_ that. 

God, even his own thoughts had turned corny. When he’d asked for the ‘full girlfriend-boyfriend treatment’, as she’d put it, she’d warned him that it wasn’t his style. For fuck’s sake, she’d been right about _that_ , too. Though, to be fair, he hadn’t expected the depth of his feelings for her. 

Growing exasperated, Leo shook his head, sighing. 

Dropping the confrontational bit – easier said than done, honestly – Raph ventured, “You gonna apologize to Jocelyn, too?” 

It was critical that Leo answered that with ‘yes’. He’d disrespected Jocelyn repeatedly – out of caution and concern for Raph, maybe, but that didn’t make it alright. In order to make this right, Leo would have to confess and apologize to _her_ , too. 

Nodding, Leo agreed, “Next time I see her in person, yeah.” He paused, then asked, “How do you think she’ll react?” 

Jocelyn? Raphael didn’t even have to think about it. “She’ll be pissed. But she’s, uh…more understanding than I am,” he admitted. “She’ll forgive you.” 

“Think she’ll hit me?” Leo pressed dryly, like he was bringing up an inside joke. 

Confused, Raph narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t envision Jocelyn raising her fist to anyone. “No?” he answered. 

Apparently Leo knew something _he_ didn’t, because Leo replied, “Uh, you know she _has_ , right?” 

“Has…hit people?” Raph checked, still baffled. When Leo nodded, he shook his head, doubtful. “Nah, not Jocelyn. No way.” 

Shrugging, Leo informed him, “She sent her last boyfriend to the hospital.” 

And Raph’s jaw fell open. She hadn’t told him about that! “Who? Why?” he demanded. “When was this?” 

Leo looked like he wanted to escape. “Maybe you should ask _her_ about this–” he started. 

Raphael cut him off, snapping, “Just tell me!” 

His brother hesitated for another second and then Leo answered, “Desmond…something. They got into a fight at school.” 

She got into a _fight?_ Raph was ready to murder this ‘Desmond’. “Did he hurt her? What happened?” 

“He slapped her,” Leo told him, growing increasingly uncomfortable and wary. 

And Raphael saw red. “Where is he?” he demanded. His protective nature was pushing him to get revenge, to decimate whoever and whatever harmed his dancer. Suffice to say he was okay with the impulse. 

“Desmond?” Leo checked with a strangled laugh. “Probably at a dentist’s.” When that brought Raph up short, confused, Leo explained, “She knocked out three of his teeth and fractured his jaw. He can’t get implants until his jaw has healed, which should be right about now.” 

In a snap, Raph went from enraged to impressed. He still had trouble envisioning her being violent, but, well…she _was_ an athlete. The first time he’d shown concern over her walking somewhere alone, she’d looked amused, quipping, _I can crush a watermelon with my thighs. I think I’ll be okay.  
_

Following that train of thought, Raph asked, “How’d she knock out his _teeth?_ ”

Smirking, Leo answered, “She kicked him.” 

Figures. Her arms had pitiful strength, but her legs…

Well, apparently her legs could break jaws and knock out teeth. And his anger cooled as he realized he didn’t _need_ to do anything now – Jocelyn had handled it _herself_ , just like she’d told him she could. 

He still _wanted_ to pulverize the shit-stain, though. A broken wrist would be a good punishment… 

Silence filled the room for several moments, and then Leo said, “Now, about you going off on your own to clean up Jo’s street…”

Aaannnnd there it was. Raph knew this would be coming. He shrugged and folded his arms, refusing to regret a single night spent patrolling her neighborhood. 

If it helped keep her safe, it was time well spent.


	20. Trust Me

**Rating:** XXX (swearing/sex)

* * *

* * *

* * *

For a moment, Jocelyn was stunned by the words that had just escaped Raphael’s mouth. 

Just last week, school had let out – and the day after, Raphael had intentionally revealed himself to her mother, Cecilia. It’d been an interesting day, to say the least; after she and her mother had gone home, they’d had a rather intense argument. 

She’d given Raphael the gist of it, but what it basically came down to was Cecilia feeling way too uncomfortable with Jocelyn’s choice of boyfriend. Nothing she’d said had helped, and ultimately the conversation had ended with Jocelyn declaring, “Well, you can’t stop me, so you’re gonna have to just trust me instead.” 

Cecilia was frustrated as hell but unable to stand between them, so she’d given up. That meant Jo and her dead sexy boyfriend were free to meet every single night if they wanted to – and, to be blunt, they did. She still danced on her roof late at night, but sometimes he came to her window when she wasn’t there. 

She still had her dance classes and he still had his patrolling, but they still saw each other at least twice a week. 

He’d also gotten a cell phone. They exchanged numbers, she showed him how to program ring tones and download new ones from the store, and he spent a good hour that first night taking pictures of her with the camera – some of them sneakily, most of them not. 

And tonight, after he showed up and they spent some time making out on her bed – she noticed right away that he was more pushy and needy than usual, like he was nervous about something – he asked her on a date. Surprise left her stunned. 

Sure, they were dating and this was kind of a critical part of it, but she hadn’t expected it. Where could they go, what could they possibly do? It wasn’t like they could go to the movies and then a restaurant for dinner. 

By now he had her laid back and had just been sucking at her neck, leaving her at a disadvantage she just _knew_ was intentional on his part. Sneaky ninja…

“Uh, I mean, I’d love to,” she agreed with a nod, “I’m just a little…confused…”

He caught on. “I got it covered,” he promised. “It’ll be warm, so dress cool, okay?” 

Her brows hiked up. “Okay, I trust you,” she replied. “When’s this date you have planned?” The idea that he might have set up something romantic made her stomach quiver; she’d literally never thought she’d get to go on a date with him. Their meetings on her roof _were_ their dates. 

It was just kind of necessary with them. They needed isolation to do anything. And while she lamented she’d never get the chance to tease him in public, to whisper naughty things or do little pets while they walked somewhere or stroke his thigh while sitting at a table, she accepted it all the same. 

His safety was more important. 

“Tomorrow at eight,” he answered. 

So early? “I assume you mean at night?” she ventured with a smirk. 

He chuckled. “Yeah. We’re gonna have dinner someplace so bring your appetite,” he added with a grin. 

God, he looked so _pleased_ with himself – and it only got worse the more surprised she became. She was going to have to fight back against that tomorrow or she’d be dealing with his self-satisfied arrogance all night. 

Not that she really had a problem with that, to be honest. 

Narrowing her eyes on him, she gave him a little, wicked smile. “Alright, but I should warn you…”

When she trailed off for dramatic effect, he just tilted his head, smirking. She kind of liked that confidence he was displaying, how _sure_ he was of himself and his plan, but it was scratching at her dominant side. A part of her had always enjoyed ordering boys and them obeying, and damn if Raphael wasn’t the biggest, baddest boy of them all. 

The fact that he was so willing to be under her sway aroused the hell out of her. As much as she liked when he turned confident and domineering, she liked it best when he knelt down and handed her total control over him. 

Finishing her statement, she purred, “I don’t _behave_ on dates…especially not with a boyfriend as hot as you.” 

He grinned, then cupped her neck and kissed her, rough and swift. She liked it. 

And then he sobered, something hesitant and wary taking up residence in him. Confused and concerned, she stroked his cheek, asking, “What’s wrong, baby?” 

He edged away, closer to the foot of the bed, so she sat up and crossed her legs, waiting. Something was clearly bothering him. After a moment he ventured, “Tell me about…Desmond.” 

Face betraying her surprise, she replied, “Uh, okay, but how do you know about him?” 

He gave her a weak shrug. Okay, then, she put _that_ in the box labeled ‘ask about later’. It was getting pretty full by now; she needed to empty that damn box. 

“So…Desmond Breyitt,” she commented. “We dated for a couple weeks, then ended it in April… What, exactly, are you asking about?” she checked. She had a hunch, but didn’t want to assume. 

She had, after all, landed him in the hospital. That was probably concerning information for _any_ guy. 

To her surprise, however, Raphael asked, “When did you break up with him?” 

Well, she hadn’t been expecting _that_. “Technically, I didn’t,” she answered – and he looked shocked and _…betrayed?_ She hurried to explain, “Desmond was never my boyfriend. We just went out on a couple of dates.” 

Confused, he asked, “Doesn’t dating make him your boyfriend?” 

And the pieces fell in place. Shaking her head, she replied, “For most people, probably. But to me, _dating_ someone doesn’t automatically make him my boyfriend. Dating is how you decide if you _want_ him to be your boyfriend. With Desmond, we never reached that point.” Shrugging, she added, “He was never that important to me.” 

She could see Raphael processing this information, getting her perspective. Then he said, “Okay, so he wasn’t your boyfriend…so when did you break things off with him?” 

“You mean when did I break his teeth?” she checked. 

Raphael laughed, obviously liking that part of the story. That answered two questions: he definitely knew about that altercation, and he wasn’t bothered by it. Good on both accounts. 

She still wanted to know how he’d found out, though. 

“I don’t remember the day, sometime early April,” she answered. When her lover’s amusement faded, however, leaving quiet thoughtfulness, she pressed, “Seriously, what’s this about? Talk to me,” she said, reaching out to stroke his arm. 

He hesitated another second, then said, “How long was it…between when you ended things with him and got with me?” 

_That_ was easy to answer; she distinctly recalled getting massively impatient with him after breaking things off with Desmond. She’d counted the freaking days. 

“Three days.” 

Judging from Raphael’s shocked expression, that was the _wrong_ answer. He looked away sharply, starting to scowl. 

_Click._ “Oh, my god, you think you’re a rebound,” she realized. A kind of warmth surged through her; he was _so_ freaking into her! To worry about this kind of thing…yeah, he wanted her more than he’d ever admit. 

“Ain’t I?” he growled, agitated. 

“Of course not,” she denied, coming closer to him. She clasped her hands on his shoulder, resting her chin on them, saying, “I told you, Desmond wasn’t my b-f. That’s kind of a critical part of the whole rebound thing, you know.” 

When he just gave her a searching look, trying to read her, she lifted her head, sensing this went deeper than she’d thought. 

“Baby, I was waiting for you to make a move for weeks,” she told him. 

Her comment seemed to rock him, surprise coloring his features. “You…were?” he checked, as if making sure he hadn’t misheard. 

“Yeah,” she intoned. “The only reason why I went out with Desmond at all was because he asked me and he was kinda interesting and _you_ still hadn’t tried anything so I was like, why not?” Glancing down, she added more quietly, “I wasn’t even so sure you were into me.” 

At that, he shifted, turning more towards her and sliding his arm around her waist. With a hand at her neck, he tilted her chin back up (she liked how he did that), meeting her gaze. He looked…beseeching, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t let the words out. “Jocelyn…” he murmured. 

She smiled. Finishing her story, she went on, “Then I decided that if you’re not gonna make a move, _I_ will. Now here we are,” she added, grinning. 

He grinned back, her explanation seeming to have soothed his worries. He leaned in, giving her a sweet, gentle kiss. 

She liked those kisses. She was learning to read them, to get a grasp of how he felt when he was too embarrassed to speak. This one, she thought, said, _I’m so happy with you right now._

Cupping his cheek, she tried to impress the same back to him. He must have gotten the message, too, because he looked away at the floor, covering his mouth to hide his smile. She leaned over, tilting her head, to follow him as best she could. 

When he glanced over at her, his hand slowly dropping, she commented, “You’re so fuckin’ handsome, you know that?” 

She hadn’t intended to say it, really. She just thought he was gorgeous and right then it was on full display. His cheeks, his jawline, his smile, his eyes – everything about him was visually appealing to her. Even his high, slitted nostrils complimented him, and that was the one feature of his she’d had a hard time getting accustomed to. 

Not to put too fine a point on it, but she thought he was a masterpiece. She loved his thick muscles, his towering height, his dense weight, his battle-scarred flesh, his iron-hard shell; he was perfection, raw and beautiful. 

And she’d just embarrassed the hell out of him. He recoiled, scoffed, grinned; looking anywhere but at _her_ and shaking his head all the while, he said, “You’re crazy.” 

“Crazy ‘bout you,” she pointed out. 

God, he looked giddy and she loved it. This was like when she’d called him cute, except that this was _way_ more effective. (“ _Handsome_ works better than _cute_ ,” she scribbled on a mental note.) She trailed her fingers up and down his arm, biting her lip – half because he was _so_ adorable and half because she knew it got to him. 

Then he pounced on her, pushing her down on the bed, and she giggled as she went down. He started devouring her neck, giving strong sucks and gentle bites, and pulled her legs up over his thighs. He liked doing that, she’d noticed; he liked putting them in this intimate position with him holding the power. 

And she liked letting him do it. For one thing, she _loved_ the attention and affection he gave her when they were like this; for another, she knew it was helping him get over his fear of sex. 

Besides, there was something she’d been wanting to try with him, and this exact position would be a great starting place. 

She gave a pleased hum as he lavished her neck with kisses, her body burning hotter the longer he kept it up. Mentally thanking herself for having had the foresight to lock her door, she ran her hands down his plastron, then gave his sides little scratches on the way back up. He groaned, a shiver racing through him; she grinned. 

“I want to try something,” she murmured, shifting so she dragged her feet over his thighs. 

“Yeah? Me too,” he replied. He sat up, drawing up her right leg to run his mouth over her skin, her flexible muscles have no trouble at all with that stretch. 

But, fuck, that was sexy; thrills ran through her at every touch of that mouth. She licked her lips as she watched him, then said, “Wanna help undress me?” She wasn’t wearing much, just a t-shirt, panties and cloth shorts. She had, after all, been getting ready for bed when he’d arrived. It was almost eleven. 

His gaze snapped to her – and she saw him swallow. His nerves had returned, not that she was surprised; he always waged a little internal battle when it came to stripping her. Usually she undressed herself to save him that struggle, but lately she’d been inviting him to participate. 

She wanted him to know, without a doubt, that she wanted him to touch her and see her – that she was comfortable with him doing so. 

Letting her leg go, he reached down, running his hands from her hips to her ribs and back. She couldn’t help arching her back at his petting, loving the feel of his large, rough hands on her. 

Distracted, he murmured, “Your skin’s so soft…” 

She wanted to say how deliciously rough his was, but she knew he wouldn’t take it as a compliment and she didn’t want to ruin this build-up. Instead, she hummed, replying, “I love how you touch me.” 

Saying things like that was always a gamble with him. Depending on what he’d been thinking, his mood could swap in a second; he could grow ravenous, turn sweet, or fall despondent. She understood that, she thought. Raphael wanted her, ached for her, appreciated her – but sometimes it was clear he didn’t feel he _deserved_ her. 

This time he sucked in a breath, fingers flexing against her. Then he took her hands, pulling her up – for a second she thought he was going to end it, but instead he pulled her shirt over her head, then guided her back down. The next stroke of his hands on her went from her waist to her breasts. 

She moaned, shifting under him as electric thrills raced through her. This kind of petting always got her wet in a rush, exciting her and readying her for more. Her hands pet him back, running over his arms and encouraging him. He took his time, massaging her as he went and constantly bringing her arousal higher. 

By the time he lowered his head to suck at her exposed flesh, she was two syllables from begging for it. One of his hands ventured under her, lifting her hips off the bed; the other began petting between her legs. Clutching his head to her, she moaned, her mind starting to swim from pleasure. 

_Fuck_ , he was good at this. He was too quick a learner, too sharp a listener. Another few affairs like this and he was going to wrestle control from her, leaving her utterly powerless. 

Not that she expected she’d dislike that, really; he always seemed so driven to please her. The more power he gained, the more orgasms _she_ gained. Fair trade. 

Now she struggled to remember her goal, forcing herself to say, “Stop, baby…stop.” 

His hand stilled, his head lifting to regard her with question. 

Hands pushing at his chest, she guided him back; he went easily, neither complaining nor pushing for more. A part of her really liked that about him, but another part ached to arouse him to the point where her pleas to stop were met with a breathless declaration of _I can’t_. 

To get him that needy, that mindless…it was a seductive thought. Her body would probably complain the morning after driving him that far, but she doubted she would care by then. 

Hooking her thumbs under her waistband, she gave him a little grin. “Help me?” she asked. 

Something dark and hot burned in his eyes then, something deeper than her request. Shooing her hands away, he grasped her shorts and panties in one and withdrew them, tossing them aside. A string of her own moisture followed the removal of her panties – a little surprise for her. She hadn’t realized she was _that_ turned on just yet. 

Before she could suggest her idea, however, he reached down and started stroking her again. The feel of those thick, rough fingers against her pussy sidelined her train of thought, wracking her with shudders. Her arms lifted above her head of their own accord, grasping at the blanket and twisting it in her grip, and her back arched up off the bed. 

Gasps and mewls escaped her as he worked, and the part of her that remained conscious wondered if he was going to bring that talented mouth down to her again. Instead, she felt a finger pressing against her, the tip dipping inside. 

Her skin may as well have caught fire from how hot that made her. 

“Say yes,” she heard him prompt. Well, now she knew what _his_ idea was.  

_Fuck. Yes._ She gasped, then demanded, “Yes, do it!” 

More and more that finger slipped and pressed, getting it coated in her juices, before he let it venture inside. And, fuck, just one of his fingers was the size of hers _combined_ , the size of a human’s dick! 

She was tight, her walls straining against the intrusion, but oh, so wet. Her arousal was so strong she felt only the mildest twinges of pain as he went deeper, gently prodding every inch of the way. By the time his digit was as deep as it could be her hips had begun lifting and undulating, seeking more. 

And then he started thrusting it, slow and sweet. 

She all but sang from the pleasure, heat flooding her with every delve inside. God, if his finger filled her so well, how much better was his cock going to be? Her eyes slipped closed at some point as he finger-fucked her, but that didn’t last long. 

He leaned down over her, bracing his arm above her head, and growled, “Look at me.” 

That demand managed to pierce through the haze in her mind, reminding her that he still wasn’t fully self-confident. He needed to know that _she_ knew who was with her, who was pleasuring her. 

As if it were possible to forget. 

She did him one better: she gave him a smoldering look, then seized his face and kissed him. She had a hard time focusing on the kiss with so much pleasure surging through her, but he clearly didn’t mind that. His tongue kept licking and lapping at her mouth as she struggled to remember _how_ to kiss. 

Feeling herself growing close, she started begging, “Faster, baby…give me more…” When he did so she cried out, bucking against him. In retaliation, he started grinding his palm against her clit as he worked, the sudden torrent of sensation making her legs quiver. 

_Too. Fucking. Good!_

And she lost it, drowning in pleasure. Heart pounding, skin flushed, nipples hard, hands fisted, body shaking – she came with a yell that he silenced with a kiss. A mixture of moans, groans and growls escaped her as waves of orgasmic pleasure crashed over her, and her lover swallowed each one. 

As she came back down, her mind spinning, she realized her toes were curled. That was a first. Catching her breath proved difficult, considering Raphael chose then to start sucking on her neck again. His finger was still giving slow, lazy thrusts, too – like he just couldn’t bear to stop yet. Her flesh was sensitive now, but he was being gentle enough that she let him keep at it. 

“Damn, baby,” she murmured. Her muscles all unbound and relaxed, leaving her a quivering mass of caramel-skinned putty under him. 

Apparently pleased with her, he ducked his head lower. She felt his tongue drag over a hard nipple, drawing a whimper from her. Then, giving it a little suck as he went, he withdrew, sitting up and finally slipping free of her confines. 

She watched as he lifted his hand and licked across that devilish finger, then brought it into his mouth to suck it clean. Sexy son of a bitch, her Raphael. 

Now that she was starting to recover, however, she sat up, hands seeking the hard bulge in his shorts. He hissed as she pet him – but waited for her to tell him what she wanted. And, Jesus, even _that_ was sexy. 

Tugging at the ties of his shorts, she directed, “Take ‘em off.” 

He hesitated, even as his eyes burned with desire. She’d bet he was both curious and excited – and possibly in pain after spending all that time pleasing her and not him – but still just a tad wary. 

“Trust me, baby,” Jocelyn told him. “You’re gonna love this.”


	21. I Trust You

**Rating:** XXX (swearing/sex)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Getting Raphael to strip was like convincing a reluctant kid that it was _totally okay_ to take cookies from the cookie jar. To this end, Jocelyn let her hands slip down his shorts, petting and dragging her nails over his skin – but, and this was intentional, _not_ his erect cock. 

Teasing him. 

Still hesitant but clearly being swayed, he leaned closer to her, saying, “You sure you want that?” He sounded so unsure, it was adorable…and frustrating. 

Tilting her chin up, she stole a kiss. “I want _all_ of you,” she told him. 

The wariness refused to leave him even as he gave in, getting to his feet. She watched with increasing anticipation as he pulled the ties free – then paused. He gave her a look that said, _Last chance_. 

Leaning back on her hands, she said, “Tit for tat, baby. You want more of _this_ , you gotta take off _those_ ,” she finished with a nod at his lower half. 

He did, she saw; he absolutely wanted more of her. She was, after all, naked and waiting for him. His gaze poured over her for a moment, eating up every curve, every freckle, every tan line. Whether he was procrastinating or building up courage or just getting distracted by her, she couldn’t tell. 

Then, at last, he slid the cloth down his legs, giving her a full frontal view – and jeez, was that _her_ pulse that just leapt in her throat? Raphael looked uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot, but Jo couldn’t help staring. 

_Fuck_ , he was perfect. Standing there shyly dipping his head, naked from bandana to knee-pads, erection standing tall and proud…all hard muscles and fantastic proportions…

He was drool-worthy. 

It probably helped his confidence that she took one look at him and grew hotter in a rush. She caught his nostrils flaring as he breathed deep, and then his gaze snapped to her as if magnetized. Grinning at him, she patted the empty spot next to her where he’d just been sitting. 

“You bring that sexy ass over here,” she ordered. 

And Raphael made that choked sound again. She soaked it up, thinking that this might just be the last time she got to hear it. After tonight, she suspected his confidence was going to skyrocket. There were going to be no more “damn, she’s too fucking flirty” moments from him; instead, she was going to get “oh, you think you’re flirty? Watch _this_ ” moments. 

She hoped. 

Drawn in by her, he took a seat, hands reaching for her before he was even settled. She rose to her knees, grabbed him by the neck, and started making out again. Distracting him with her lips and tongue, he didn’t notice her straddling him until her weight rested on his thighs – and his penis brushed against her belly. 

Ooh, she liked that feeling. 

He stiffened, hands gripping her hips to hold her still. Voice tight, he pleaded, “Jocelyn, I’m not…”

“I know,” she assured him; he still wasn’t ready to take the final step and she wasn’t going to push for it. “We’re not going that far. Just follow me,” she said, reaching down to start stroking his hard cock. 

Just a little slick, like always. Man, she really wanted to know how it did that. 

One hand remained on his neck as she pet him, bringing her mouth back to his again. For several moments she focused on kissing and pumping him, and her efforts were rewarded with groans and shudders from him. And he wasn’t the only one enjoying this; aside from the fact that his tongue never failed to arouse her, just _thinking_ about what she had planned next was getting her engines revving all over again. 

Not to mention the way his hands were petting at her, running over her back and sides and ass, giving little squeezes every so often like he wanted so much to yank her against him but wouldn’t let himself. Wanting to encourage him, she decided it was time to get this started… 

She pressed in tighter against him, bracing her knees, and began grinding her hips – rubbing her slick cunt against the cock in her grasp as she went. At once his hands gripped her hips and pulled, increasing the contact and friction as her grind slid back down. 

He shuddered, his eyes burning with need as he gazed at her. Jo just gave him a little devilish smirk and slipped her tongue past his lips. 

She’d known this would get him, but she hadn’t expected how much it was getting _her_ , too. Every time she lifted and lowered her hips, her hand on his cock following the motions to ensure he got the most contact and sensation he could, electric thrills and heat surged through her. Couple that with his tongue racing across her lips and she was starting to feel drunk, her brilliant plan backfiring against her. 

Fuck, she was going to lose it before _he_ did. 

That just wouldn’t do. 

Wrestling for focus, she tamped down her own reactions and doubled her efforts. She started squeezing and stroking his cock faster than her hips were moving, nipping and sucking at his lips as she worked. Judging from the harsh, shuddering breath he took, he _really_ liked it. 

Once she was sure he was used to the feel, she withdrew, breaking the kiss as she went. He followed her retreat, his hands on her back keeping her from getting very far. He’d never held her _quite_ that tightly before, but rather than worry her, she felt her excitement ramp up higher. 

He was _needing_ this, exactly as she’d wanted, and nothing aroused her more than _his_ need. 

But she pushed at his neck, forcing just a little space between them. Stilling her motions and taking her devilish hand away, she said again, “Follow me.” 

Raphael looked totally clueless to what she meant – until she pulled away from him to lay back, opening her arms for him to join her. Then his eyes widened, a whole new kind of fire starting in them, and – oh, so gently – he settled his weight on her, cradled between her thighs. His cock rested on her belly, exactly where she wanted it. 

It made her stomach quiver and her pussy clench with want. 

“You’re playin’ with fire,” he warned her on a breathless murmur. 

Oh, hell yes, she was, and she couldn’t wait to get burned. 

Giving him another kiss, she brought both hands to the heavy erection laying on her. It pulsed hard, lifting into her grasp, and _fuck_ if that wasn’t the sexiest thing. As she gave it soft, leading strokes (and noted how it reached her freaking navel; Jesus, he was big), she purred, “Now show me how you move.” 

A war was waging behind his eyes: need versus caution. He croaked out, “Jocelyn…” 

“Trust me, baby,” she prompted, nuzzling against his jaw. “I trust _you_.” 

His eyes said _you really shouldn’t_ , but – bracing his elbows for support – he still obeyed. His first withdraw and thrust was tentative, testing himself and figuring out what she was planning while never breaking their held gaze. Her hands remained where they were, letting his cock slip away and back, giving little squeezes with her fingers as he went. 

He shuddered against her, nostrils flaring and jaw clenching. His pupils were _giant_ , she saw, locked on her with a mixture of wonder, disbelief and excitement. And Jocelyn was more than a little turned on by what she was seeing. 

The thrust had completely missed her clit and everything below, gliding along her belly alone, but she had a strong feeling that just watching him was going to make her come anyway. Who needed physical sensation when they had such a seductive lover discovering the pleasure of thrusting for the first time right above them? 

His second thrust didn’t make him shudder quite as hard, and his third and fourth were even smoother. Soon he was giving steady, constant quivers instead, telling her it felt damn good but wasn’t overwhelming him. Good; that meant she could start playing. 

At last. 

Biting her lip as she watched him, she began stroking his cock instead of just holding it. Her hands twisted, squeezed, pumped and ghosted over him, at first just obeying whatever impulse she had but eventually acting in reaction to _him_. 

Running her thumb over the slanted head made him jolt and yell, then smother her mouth in a heated kiss. Touching lightly made him shiver and thrust harder, seeking more contact. Squeezing wrought shudders from him, muscles jumping in his arms and thighs. 

It could make a girl feel power-drunk. 

At least, it _did_ – until he took that power away. Drawing up from her, Raphael sat back on his knees and pulled her right up against him by the hips. 

Laying his cock right on her pussy. 

Excitement quickened her pulse, and when she met his gaze she saw devilish intelligence. He knew _exactly_ what he was doing…and what it was going to do to her, too. 

He held her where he wanted her and started thrusting again, pleasure surging in her as he glided across her slick cunt. God, she could _feel_ her nipples hardening, and her hands gripped his dick tight, holding it flush against her. 

And not to brag or anything, but it was _amazing_. Honest to god, she had the best boyfriend alive. Each of his thrusts made her quiver under him, hands squeezing in reaction to how good it felt – voluntary involuntary tells. His cock was giving similar signs, pulsing and jolting in her grasp whenever he _really_ liked something. 

The only thing that could possibly make this better would be if he were inside her instead of on top, thrusting that thick member as deep as it would go. She wanted it so much it was almost embarrassing. 

But this was _damn_ good, too. She could feel her neck flushing hotter, a little persistent quiver starting in her knees, and heard her own voice encouraging him to keep at it. 

“Yes, baby – yes – oh fuck, that’s good –” 

His need was getting stronger, she could see; it seemed every word she said made him move a little faster, a little harder. He wasn’t even inside her and she was affecting him so strongly their skin was slapping, her moisture – and his – spreading thanks to his vigorous motions. It made her belly quiver, sweet pleasure racing through her with every thrust. 

Better than all of that, however, was the sight of _him_ as he worked his hips. When he tossed his head back and she could see all the little muscles in his neck straining, her hands clenched tight on him. At once he started cumming as he thrusted against her, fingers biting into her hips, and she gasped with pleasure as it lanced her, long lines reaching all the way to her breasts. 

Maybe she was just chilly right then but it felt so hot, more so than usual. His thrusts slowed to a stop as the last of it fell, and she couldn’t help giving her customary final squeeze, loving the way he jerked as she drew out that last drop. Catching it with her thumb, she happily licked it up. 

She hadn’t received a second orgasm from this, but that was fine with her. Smiling to herself, pleased with the night’s events, she caught his gaze and commented, “Still waiting to get burned.” 

He chuckled and released her hips at last – and a sharp jolt of pain went through her, drawing a sudden yelp from her. Raphael froze, and in unison they looked down to where his hands had been holding her. 

Bruises were forming, circling her hips from his large hands and fingers. Oops. 

Well, she thought dryly, there was the burn. 

Though Jocelyn still considered tonight to be a success, Raphael seemed to deflate, pain and sorrow twisting his features. Oh, no – she wasn’t going to allow _that_. 

She’d said it before, after all: _We all know what’ll happen if you hurt me._

When he withdrew from her, grabbing his shorts from off the floor, she sat up – wincing a little as her hips protested the move and getting used to the pain. “Baby, look at me,” she said. He just slipped on the shorts, back to her. “Raphael,” she pressed. 

He shook his head. 

Alright, then. She got up, ignoring the twinges she felt as she went, and grabbed his hand with both of hers. When he tried to pull away, she stepped in front of him, refusing to let go. 

Heavy reluctance shown in his gaze, obviously wanting to escape. She reached up to stroke his cheek and his face seemed to crumble, like he couldn’t deal with her affection after he’d given her bruises. 

“I ever tell you how much I love your hands?” she wondered aloud. 

That only seemed to make his despair worse. Ignoring her comment, he hissed, “I hurt you, Jocelyn.” 

“So?” she prompted. This was critical to her – and, she thought, to him: that she didn’t _deny_ it. 

Incredulous, he shook his head. “You really are crazy,” he noted. 

“Again, so?” 

With a weak, pained smile, he said, “How can you just…not care? If I hurt you once, I can…” 

_Hurt me again_ , she thought. She brought his hand up to her neck, guiding his fingers to circle it – he jerked back, not allowing his fingers to close. “That’s why,” she replied. He would never _allow_ himself to hurt her, never even chance it. She trusted that. “First off, it was an accident. Right?” 

Hesitant, he nodded, following. 

“Second off, that was kinda half the point of this,” she told him. 

“…What, me hurtin’ you?” he asked, shocked. 

“No, you getting used to thrusting,” she clarified. “You gonna be able to control yourself better from now on?”

Startled, he blurted, “This was a _test?_ ” _  
_

Sort of. “Exercise,” she corrected. “And a damn good one, I think.” She glanced down pointedly at her belly, noting how much of his cum had painted her flesh. Seeing it, she couldn’t help but scoop up some on her finger and suck it off. 

God, why did that taste so good? 

She gave him a smile. “ _I’m_ happy. You should be, too.” 

A muscle jumped in his jaw, and she could see anger rising in him. “Any crash you can walk away from, right?” he spat. 

Well, that’d backfired. “Raphael, it’s not that bad,” she told him. 

“ _This_ time,” he intoned. “You shouldn’t be taking these kinds of risks!” 

“What risks?” she demanded, her own anger rising in response to his. “You coulda stopped, you know. If you were worried about hurting me, you coulda stopped. I trusted that. Did you?” 

That had him hesitating. Choosing his words carefully, he replied, “You don’t know how good that felt.” 

“…And that was the other half of the point,” she said. “You pleasured the _hell_ out of me. I wanted to return the favor.” 

“You put yourself at risk,” he told her, quiet and subdued. 

“I really didn’t,” she returned. “If I’d uttered a single ‘ow’ you would’ve stopped. I know that. Do you?” she asked with a jut of her chin. 

When he hesitated to respond, conflict warring in his eyes, she went on, “I have absolute faith in you. I think it’s time you had some in yourself.” 

He looked away, shoulders tense and jaw clenched. 

She reached up, petting that jaw, aiming to release the tension. “Kiss me,” she prompted. He gave her a sharp look, confused. “You want to apologize, don’t you?” she checked. “Tell me in a kiss.” 

This wasn’t his fault. She’d initiated their grinding, had led him to it, knowing all the while that she was putting herself in a vulnerable position. Sure, she hadn’t expected him to shift the position or hold onto her like he had, but she’d still been well aware that his strength could, at any point, injure her. 

If anyone was to blame for her bruises, it was her. She didn’t even need to forgive him for it – no matter what _he_ believed. But she knew that regardless of what she said now, it was going to take a while before he forgave himself. 

And she would damn well help with that. 

Bringing her hands to his neck, she pulled, guiding him down to her. “Kiss me,” she repeated on a little murmur. 

As if he were unable to stop himself, he did; his lips grazed hers lightly for a moment, hesitation in every touch, before bringing them together in the sweetest kiss she’d had so far. 

His hands, she noticed, were reluctant to touch her, but eventually they settled on her back. She ran her hands over his cheeks, returning his apologetic kiss with a strong message of her own: _I love you_. 

The tiniest jolt went through him, her message received. When he broke the kiss, she saw wonder in his eyes. 

Drawing back a fraction, he cleared his throat, struggling for composure. “You should get some sleep,” he told her. 

Nodding, she smiled at him. “You, too,” she returned. 

One corner of his mouth lifted in a tentative smile. As he withdrew, taking a step away, his hand paused at her neck, his eyes looking between it and her own gaze. Testing? Confirming? 

She let him have the moment uncontested, doing nothing to interrupt. 

Whatever was going on in his head, it’d apparently satisfied him. He left after snatching up his harness from her floor, snapping it on as he slipped out of her window. She shut the blinds and settled the curtain after he was gone, smiling to herself. 

Then she looked down and tisked. She had a mess to clean up.


	22. Swan Lake

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing/sexual references)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Put simply, Jocelyn was _amazing_. Every day they were together, it seemed, she gave Raphael something new to think about. Tonight’s gem: her easy acceptance of his ability to freaking _bruise_ her. 

He hadn’t realized he’d been holding onto her so tight, and apparently, neither had she. At no point had she telegraphed any pain. And at first he’d been so paranoid of it, so afraid he was going to hurt her, that he’d been reluctant to so much as rest his weight on her. 

But it’d felt so fucking _good_ , grinding on her, steadily erasing all other thoughts. Her reactions, her motions, her scent – it’d all given him confidence, leaving him so damn sure of himself. That was his downfall, it seemed. The moment he let his guard down and just took the pleasure she was offering, he’d bruised her tender hips – just by _holding_ them. 

His worst fears realized. 

And then she just had to go and wreck his self-hatred for it, too. How was he supposed to punish himself if she wouldn’t even be angry with him? _I trust you,_ she’d said over and over. She’d even placed his hand – one of the two that had _hurt her_ – on her own neck! Shouldn’t she at least have been a little hesitant about it? 

Jocelyn had a bad habit of reacting in ways he couldn’t predict. Every time he thought for sure he knew her, she threw another curve ball. 

_Any crash you can walk away from, right?_ he’d asked, expecting her to show fear and realize how much of a risk she’d taken. Instead, she’d grown angry with him, talking like getting injured was expected and not a big deal, like him _hurting_ her was par for the course. 

_I trust you,_ she’d said – as if that were enough. 

In a way, it felt like she was putting too much weight on his shell, putting too much pressure on him to maintain control. _You coulda stopped_ , she’d said. As if it were so easy! She had no idea how close to madness he’d come. _Control_ was hard-won at that point, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that she didn’t know just how much he struggled to deny his instincts with her. 

Her hands on him as he thrusted against her – it’d felt so good, it’d left him shaken. She obviously hadn’t noticed, but he’d been battling with his impulses the entire time. So many times he’d almost withdrawn far enough to drive his next thrust directly into her willing body. He’d wanted it, burned for it, almost drove himself mad just denying it. 

But it’d have hurt her, just diving in like that. And besides which, a part of him still couldn’t go that far just yet. More and more it felt like the moment they breached that barrier, that would be it – no going back. Aside from the fear he wouldn’t be able to control or stop himself once he got going, he was also afraid that he wasn’t ready to commit to that. 

He was in love with her, yes, but to get that close…to become that entwined…it was a sobering thought. She was already as dear to him as his brothers were, and sex would undoubtedly bring her even closer to his heart. The closer she got, the more he’d break…

Did he dare let anyone so close, let anyone so deep under his shell, where they could do irreparable damage to him? 

For now, he put that aside. He wasn’t going to let the hurtful parts of the night dim his excitement for tomorrow. And it _had_ hurt him, seeing her flesh turning purple right where his hands had been. His heart had twisted and wrenched in his chest, and the feel of it so soon after climaxing might have been the worst part, that juxtaposition ruining every good and pleasurable piece of the experience. 

He’d found so much pleasure in letting his hips thrust against her, and while he was drowning in that mind-numbing orgasm, her tender skin was _bruising_. 

She was right, though – he _would_ control himself better from now on. Her idea had been brilliant like that, now that he could look back and see it. And not only would it help him learn to handle the sensations, it gave him a bit of insight into how his body wanted to thrust – _before_ they could cross that final line. Between her little exercise and his guilt over hurting her, he was growing positive he would, eventually, master self-control. 

Still, he wasn’t going to try anything tomorrow night. 

Provided she still wanted to go – and, fuck, he hadn’t checked that, had he? Sure, she’d _probably_ still want to go, but it would’ve been smart to at least _ask_ before he’d left. And, worse, she might want to go _now_ , but she might not be _able_ to go tomorrow. He didn’t know how badly her hips were hurting or if it’d get worse. 

It’d be a shame if they couldn’t go, yet also a fitting punishment, in a way. Wouldn’t _that_ be good incentive to not fuck up again! 

And, unsurprisingly, when he called her that afternoon, she was _pumped_. Like nothing out of the ordinary had happened the night before, she gleefully confirmed that, yes, she still _totally_ wanted to go. 

When he asked about her hips, she replied, “Meh, bruised but not swollen. Hardly even hurts anymore, and only when I touch it…or try to touch my toes…that kinda thing.” 

He still felt terrible about it, but Jocelyn brushing it off like it was nothing helped a bit. “I’m really sorry about that,” he told her, another rush of guilt filling him. 

“Hey, as long as it was an accident, it’s fine,” she said. “You ever try anything like that on purpose, though, and I’ll tear you a new one.” 

He chuckled. She had _no_ hope of ever hurting him, but he liked her gusto. She reminded him of a kitten baring its claws for the first time. Sure, a swipe might sting a little, but those tiny claws could never draw blood. 

Ignoring, of course, that she could fuck up a human pretty damn well. Good thing he wasn’t human, then. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he retorted. 

A few hours later, when he left to go meet her in the subway, Raphael found himself being trailed by his brothers. The three of them wore almost identical smirks every time he glanced behind him. It made him wish he had a third finger so he could flip them the bird. 

Their reasoning for accompanying him? “We just wanna see her off.” 

Bunch of liars. The only thing they ‘just’ wanted was to see him get embarrassed by something. Well, he wasn’t letting that happen tonight. He hadn’t even told them he was taking her on a date; someone must have overheard something or put two and two together, then informed the others. 

Raph’s response? Heading out with his chin raised, refusing to let their hawking dampen his spirits. 

And Jocelyn, he soon saw, was a fucking _goddess_. So much for not embarrassing himself; there was no stopping it now. 

* * *

At first, when Jocelyn started her walk down the subway tunnel, she was excited and anticipating great things. When she grew closer, though, she saw four shadows instead of one. It brought a hitch to her step, confusion setting in. 

She was **[dressed to kill](https://78.media.tumblr.com/db8ff00312346e32150978af0a12abbd/tumblr_p2j2mvyuEz1wtuqpio3_r1_1280.png)** , picking sexy, loose garb specifically because she wanted to give her lover a hard time. And all four guys noticed; she saw them look her up and down. She didn’t mind. She _loved_ being ogled, to be honest. 

But she was confused why the others were here. To Raphael, she queried, “Did I misunderstand what you meant by ‘date’?” 

He was clearly having a hard time tearing his eyes off her exposed flesh, but he still replied, “No, they’re just…here to annoy me.” 

She heard Leo chuckle at that. 

Mikey, on the other hand, didn’t even seem to hear Raph. Nodding, he gave her a thumb’s up. “Lookin’ damn fine, girl,” he approved. 

She smiled, though Raph sent him a searing glare; he looked away. 

“Seriously,” Donny commented (and was he blushing? How cute!), “it’s late…you’re probably gonna get cold.” 

She shrugged. “I was advised to dress cool,” she said, smirking at Raphael.

Her beau cleared his throat. “You nailed _that_ ,” he quipped. 

And she planned on nailing a few other things before the night was over, but for once she didn’t say it aloud. Instead, she just grinned. 

Leo ventured, “You definitely have a…strong sense of style.” 

At that, she lifted her chin, pride filling her. Dressing up was a kind of passion of hers, and she loved when people noticed. 

Meeting his gaze, she replied, “Personal philosophy of mine: if the body is a temple, then two things I know…one, you can decorate yours however you want,” she added with a wide gesture. 

“And two?” Mikey prompted. 

With a sly smile, she answered, “Never let anyone inside who isn’t willing to worship yours.” This last she said with a knowing glance at Raphael. 

Evidently her words impacted all four of them; while Raphael turned to stride a few steps away, shaking his arms and his head and trying to recover from her overly flirtatious comment, his brothers shared a few looks, uncomfortable. None of them glanced her way for several seconds. She grinned, pleased with herself. 

Then Mikey snickered and the tense moment seemed to fall away. 

Giving a two-finger salute, Jocelyn said, “See you later, guys,” then strode closer to Raphael, slipping her hands into his and holding it against her hip. It was an unthinking move on her part, simply catering to her desire to touch him, but a little jolt of pain hit her – reminding her just how sensitive her new bruises were. 

Ignoring it, she gave him a smile, saying, “I’m ready to go.” 

They were just bruises, after all. They’d heal. 

Raphael gave her a look that suggested he’d almost forgotten they had plans tonight. He gave his head another shake, striving for focus in such an obvious and adorable manner that she kind of wanted to wreck it all over again. Watching him struggle to maintain composure was proving to be a turn-on of hers. 

Another time, she promised herself. More than fooling around with him, she wanted to know what he’d set up for tonight. 

When she smiled at him, curious, he seemed to snap back into focus. He gave her a quick kiss, then said, “Alright, let’s go.” 

He had her take a subway train while he rode on top of it, something which stressed her a bit the entire time. Not to mention a couple guys tried flirting with her, but by now she’d mastered the _get the fuck away from me if you don’t want to bleed_ glare, so those events ended quickly. 

If they hadn’t, well…she didn’t want to ruin her outfit or smudge her makeup, so she probably would have just led them on until her ride ended. The moment she stepped off the train, she knew Raphael would solve the problem _damn_ quickly. 

A part of her wanted to see that. Alas, no one messed with her. Another time, then. 

The exit he’d given her, though, left her suspicious. Columbus Circle Station? That was right near the Metropolitan Opera House – as well as a bunch of other places, sure, but now she’d gotten the idea in her head. 

The streets were _packed_ by now, so they stuck to the subway. Being underground left her quite disoriented, unsure where she was, relying on Raphael to not lead them astray. To her surprise, he eventually led them through a series of tight little metal corridors, so tight he could barely fit through them, even whilst hunched. 

“You sure about this?” she asked him, concerned that he might get stuck. 

He shooed her onwards with his hands. “Relax. I already tested this an’ I fit just fine.” Just as he said that, his shell bumped into a metal wall. And dented it. 

She rose her brows. 

Heaving a sigh, he nudged her forward. “We’re almost there.” 

Apparently they had very different interpretations of what ‘almost’ meant. Once they finally made it to what was clearly some kind of underground air conditioning room, full of large, loud machines, they started a vertical climb. She could only make it so far without help, thanks to her intense stilettos and somewhat pathetic upper body strength, so Raphael ended up having to do half her climbing for her. 

And it was getting louder as they went. She could hear chatter, people talking, objects being moved and an orchestra practicing. _Something_ was about to start, and it knotted her stomach with anticipation. 

These noises were _familiar_ , something she’d heard dozens of times in the last decade. It made her excited for a number of reasons – because now she was _sure_ they were sneaking into the fucking Metropolitan Opera House, and thanks to her passions for ballet, she knew exactly which performance was being put on and which dancers were starring in it. 

Swan Lake, her favorite ballet, featuring _Misty fucking Copeland_ , her idol and favorite dancer of all time. 

She’d wanted so badly to get tickets, but every showing had been sold out for months. And, to be honest, it’d never occurred to her to try and _sneak_ in. Having a ninja for your lover was the gift that kept on giving, apparently…

Though Jocelyn had attended performances here three times in her lifetime (so far), she had no idea where they were now or where they were headed. She could only trust that Raphael knew where he was going and had all the bases covered. 

Eventually their climb halted and they went horizontal again, crawling through the vents until he stopped her. He motioned her to stay quiet and pointed down at a vent screen beneath them – which, she noticed, had an active fan circling in it. She’d crossed over it and now she turned back towards him, curious and just a bit unnerved. 

Guessing what he wanted, she met his gaze and shook her head. 

He rolled his eyes, folding his arms and getting comfortable where he was. 

That left her confused. Quiet as she could be, she whispered, “What are we doing now?”

“Waiting,” he replied, equally quiet. 

“For what?” she demanded. 

“The lights to go out.”

Oh. 

That didn’t take long, luckily. Only a few minutes passed before a hush came over the auditorium, lights dimming. Though she could barely see, she still noticed when Raphael simply reached down through the vent and _caught_ the fan with one hand. 

She had to clamp both hands over her mouth to keep from shrieking in horror, thinking for sure he was about to lose a hand. Instead, he just gave it a tug and the motor died, giving a pathetic little whir. Another tug and it came _off_ , Raphael pulling it aside before slipping down through the new hole. 

When she glanced down, he was standing upright, hands outstretched up to her. Dim lights illuminated from below, and she could see they were in some fancy rafters, more of a floor than not with triangular cuts in them every so often. They were above the audience. 

_Above_. 

With a kind of strangled laugh, she followed him down, though she wouldn’t have been able to do it if he weren’t there to catch her. Placing her heeled boots carefully on the ground and feeling a wave of vertigo from the height, her mind unhelpfully informed her that they must be at least five stories above the ground floor with nothing but the elevated seats between her and certain death. 

She did _not_ let go of Raphael. 

Then the orchestra started up and she saw a series of lights come from above them, realizing they were right below the lighting area with mere feet between them. Raphael could probably just reach up and touch the floor above him. 

Now his order of “dress cool” started to make sense. Up here they’d get very little of the air conditioning and the lights above them heated the air regardless. It might even get sweltering by the time the play was over. 

At first he tried to lead her to the edge, but her fear kept her legs from moving. Instead, he chuckled, picked her up, and strode there, himself. He sat close to the edge, legs crossed, and seated her in his lap. She felt _much_ safer in his grasp than she would have been on her own feet, honestly. 

To her (continued) surprise, Raphael pulled a freaking pair of binoculars from a pack on his belt, giving them to her to use. She gave him a kiss as a thank you. 

They made it just as the curtain rose, and with the sound of raucous applause resounding through the auditorium, Jocelyn was treated to the greatest performance she’d ever seen, featuring the greatest dancer alive, and provided by the greatest lover she’d ever have. 

It was _incredible_. As she watched the play take place, the beauty and magic of the performances, she felt herself falling in love with ballet all over again. Her eyes kept growing damp, but she always blinked it away – crying would only make it harder to see everything, and she didn’t want to miss a single step. 

And she couldn’t help murmuring little comments now and then. Almost as if she were narrating the play, she heard herself saying what was happening in time with the acts. 

When she grew emotional over Misty Copeland, however, she said, “God, she’s so beautiful…” 

In her opinion, _no one_ danced like Misty did – so much grace, so much strength, so much connection with the music… 

Raphael seemed to disagree. Nuzzling into her neck, he replied, “You’re way more beautiful.” 

She clicked her tongue, even as she warmed under his praise. “Rose-colored glasses,” she quipped. 

“Just stating facts,” he returned. 

She grinned. “Here’s another: no one has ever made me happier than you have, right now.” 

His arms circled her, pulling them tighter together, and for a moment she considered putting the binoculars aside to focus on him, instead. Such sweet emotion filled her, and she felt it reciprocated in _him_. 

She loved Misty Copeland, she loved Swan Lake, she loved ballet…but she loved Raphael more than all three combined. Only the knowledge that this play was time-sensitive kept her from switching gears; she’d have Raphael for the rest of her life (as long as he was willing), but the performance would only last a few hours. Plus he’d gone through the trouble of finding this spot and sneaking them in. She shouldn’t waste it. 

Besides, focusing on the play would give her time to plan a proper thank you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[NOTE: If you fact-check the stuff I write about in this chapter, you’ll find it’s all lies for May 2017. That’s partly because I had an extremely hard time finding the information I was looking for, but also I just decided to hell with it, I’m inventing whatever I want for the sake of feels. Author’s license. You’re welcome. ♥]]


	23. Pissant

**Rating:** R (swearing/sexual references)

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By the time the play was over, Jocelyn felt incredible. It was like all her emotions had ramped up higher: her love of ballet, her appreciation for movement and grace, her gratitude towards the dedication and mutual synchronization of the dancers and the orchestra, her affection for her lover for providing her with this performance… 

…and her desire to dance, herself. It was hard to sit still through the last few minutes of the play, her legs _wanting_ to match the steps she was seeing from Misty. A part of her ached to get up and join the women on the stage. 

And the moment the curtain fell, another part of her wanted to shower Raphael with her love. _That_ impulse she obeyed, waiting only long enough to hand him back the binoculars she’d been using so he could put them away. Then she pounced, twisting in his grasp and clutching at his neck. She kissed him, earnest and demanding. 

At first he chuckled, clumsily meeting her rapid, needy pecks. That soon grew to true lust, his hands pulling her closer – while avoiding her hips, she noticed – and his tongue delving past her lips. In no time she was straddled on his thighs as best she could, using the small height advantage the position granted her to push on him. 

But he didn’t budge. That surprised her; usually he followed her lead easily, laying back if she pushed him or standing or sitting if she guided him to do so. 

This time he pushed back, breaking the kiss with a little smirk. “Love the enthusiasm,” he commented, “but it ain’t over yet.” 

“What?” she demanded, surprised. 

“The date,” he clarified with a laugh. 

Oh. Right, that. She shrugged. “Is there a time limit?” she wondered, then ducked her head to nip at his neck. 

He groaned. “More like an expected time of arrival,” he pointed out. 

Judging from the fancy words he was using, he was distracted and trying extra hard to keep focused (Raphael wasn’t the type to use technical terms like that). God, if that didn’t make her even hotter. She telegraphed as much by giving him a bigger, slightly rougher bite. 

Raphael shuddered and grunted, a visual and audible attempt to retain self-control. She could almost feel that he was about ready to give in. 

And the naughty, mischievous part of her rose up, driving her to cease her teasing and leave him cold. Teasing and denial. She leaned back and regarded him with a grin – he looked halfway lost – saying, “So, I’m guessing we have a reservation somewhere?” 

The look he gave her said _I know exactly what you’re doing_ , but aside from a little huff he didn’t challenge it. He guided her to stand up – a feat, that, considering the very idea of standing on this platform left her paralyzed – and got up, himself. But when he moved to pick her up, she stopped him by lifting a hand and sent a glance down at the stage once more. 

Thinking out loud, she said, “I want to be on that stage…right beside Misty.” She wanted to dance alongside her, wanted to split principle roles with her – or beat her out entirely. To share a role with Misty…to win one from her…what a dream that was! 

After a moment of thought, Raphael commented, “You really admire her, huh?”

That obvious? Smiling, Jo explained, “Misty is the first woman of color to make principle dancer in twenty years. She inspired a whole generation of colored girls to take up dancing in a world we thought was closed to us. The year after she got the proverbial crown? _Seven_ girls and _three_ boys of color joined my school,” she told him. “We had three total before, myself included. That brought us up to thirteen colored girls and boys in a sea of whites.” 

Misty hadn’t just opened the door for girls – she’d opened the way for boys, too. Already Jocelyn’s school was more diverse, more colored, than it’d been since she had joined when she was five. 

“So, yes,” Jocelyn concluded, “I admire her. And even if I didn’t see myself in her, she’s still incredible, made it to soloist in a year after starting…she’s a prodigy.” 

Raphael obviously didn’t understand everything – that was her fault, she supposed, for using terms like ‘principle dancer’ and ‘soloist’ – but he clearly liked what she was saying all the same. Smirking, he asked, “D’you believe you can achieve any dream, s’long as you keep at it? D’you believe in yourself?”  

“Wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t,” she agreed. 

“Good – cause I believe in you, too,” he told her. 

Grinning, she glanced down, feeling a flutter in her heart that made her eyes sting. God, he made her so happy. 

He offered a hand. “Come on. Dinner’s next.” 

Curious, excited and appreciative, she took his hand. 

They went back the way they came: through the vents. Raphael helped her the whole way, almost constantly keeping a hand on her for stability and support. Then they went back to the subway and Jocelyn boarded again, trying to think of the crossroads by the station he’d given her. She didn’t know the area they were heading towards, so she had no idea what was in store for her. 

She could’ve checked ahead using her phone…but she hadn’t brought it. The only thing she brought with her aside from her hair and her dress was a knife in a little thigh strap. She didn’t expect she’d need it with Raphael there, but it was never a bad idea to have one on you – at the very least, you had a tool if you needed to cut a thread on your outfit. 

Once at the station she waited around for a lull in activity like always…and some guy seemed to mistake her for a prostitute. 

“Heeeyyy, baby, how much?” he asked. 

At first she didn’t realize he was even talking to her. She was ‘busy’, plucking at some of her curls and checking her clothing for smudges of dust. Then the prick stood right up against her and she jerked away, uncomfortable with the proximity and spearing him with an aggravated look. 

Gesturing elsewhere, she ordered, “Fuck off.” 

Ignoring that, he repeated more insistently, “How. Much?” 

He looked like the type to degrade a woman, she noted, from his hoodie with the hood up on top of a cloth hat and _way_ too baggy pants. He was also shorter than her, even if she _weren’t_ wearing heels that brought her up to six feet. Judging by the pitiful mustache he bore, he was either young or had weak facial hair genes but was trying to grow one anyway. He probably thought it looked sexy. 

It looked _sad_. 

And she could see why he was interested in her, she thought. He was dark-skinned, too, their tones almost matching. He had no accent, though, leaving her unsure what his heritage might be – not that it really mattered. And it kind of made sense for him to hit on her. Very few _white_ guys ever approached her, undoubtedly swayed by that unconscious thread of racism so many people suffered from, but _colored_ boys _flocked_ to her – this wasn’t the first time she’d been propositioned in the subway, to put it bluntly. 

It was the first time her _get the fuck away from me_ look failed to get the hint across, though. He was quite the stubborn one. 

Knowing she wouldn’t get anywhere by saying she wasn’t some whore for sale, she replied, “Three grand.” 

He blinked, surprised. Obviously he hadn’t expected that answer. He scoffed. “Three grand? For _that?”_ he retorted, gesturing her. 

“Three grand,” she corrected, “to pay your hospital bills after my boyfriend finishes fuckin’ you up.” 

Narrowing his eyes, he seemed to take that as a challenge. “I ain’t scared,” he told her. _  
_

_Poser,_ she thought.

“‘Sides, he ain’t here, is he?” he said, gesturing the platform. 

Oh, if only this tool knew what she did… 

“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked. 

Confused by the change of subject, he replied, “No?” 

“Not surprised, the way you talk to women,” she quipped. “Word of advice, pal? Learn to _listen_. Here’s an example: I’m telling you _no_. I don’t want you. Get the fuck out of my face.” 

Evidently he decided this just meant she was playing hard to get. He jerked his waistband up and down, saying, “Turnin’ down this, dolly? You’ll be cryin’ tonight. I’ll give you a twenty to use them lips on it,” he added with a wink. 

It was almost painful, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. There was no reasoning with this twit. Fine, then. Plastering on an intrigued look, she checked, “Twenty bucks?” 

He grinned, thinking he’d won. “Yep.” He pulled out his wallet, retrieved a twenty dollar bill and offered it up. “All yours for five minutes of work.” 

She seriously doubted he’d last that long. 

“Make it thirty,” she replied. 

He seemed to debate that, so she licked her lips for incentive – even as her skin crawled at the idea that this guy thought he was actually winning. 

Nodding, he pulled out a ten. “Deal. You get it after you’re done,” he told her, putting the thirty bucks in one pocket and his wallet in another. 

He was in for a world of hurt and had no idea. Just imagining the way Raphael was going to punish him made her excited – and she let that show. This twerp was so lost in his self-delusion that he’d just think she was excited for the money. 

Looking this way and that, she checked for the activity and saw her chance. “This way,” she suggested with an incline of her head. She led the guy off the platform. 

By now she knew Raphael would have caught on to what she was up to. All she had to do was meet him in the proper place. The idiot following her kept trying to get frisky as they went, but she kept her pace so quick he couldn’t reach her for long. 

She had no idea where Raphael was, but after a moment she heard an _oomph_ and a heavy, fleshy impact and turned to look behind her, finding a _hilarious_ scene. 

The lewd jerk was on the ground now, caught under her lover’s foot. One huge hand was wrapped around the guy’s face, keeping him from uttering a single sound. He was damn well trying anyway, resulting in the most pitiful muffled shrieks she’d ever heard. He looked paralyzed, too; though his hands were on Raphael’s thick wrist, he wasn’t pushing or struggling. 

It was dark, but she could see Raphael was wearing a snarl. “Seems you need a life lesson,” he growled. 

The guy whimpered. 

Raphael snapped, “ _Women_ ain’t _toys_ , pissant. She told ya to listen, an’ you didn’t, did you?” 

Another strangled whimper. 

“Next time you disrespect a woman like this, I’ll break your jaw, got me?” 

This time Jo clearly heard a muffled scream and the guy tried to shove Raphael off him. Naturally he got nowhere, his efforts utterly ineffectual. 

Moving back, Raphael went from holding the guy’s face to lifting him off the ground by his neck, legs dangling. She’d never seen that happen in real life before, and two things became apparent: 

First, that was _really_ impressive. 

Second, the jerk was clearly choking from the hold, his own weight too much for his neck to handle. He couldn’t inhale enough to get out more than a few broken syllables. He just kept kicking and swatting, trying in vain to free himself. 

Jocelyn strode over, crossing her arms as she stood beside Raphael. 

He said, “I should break your jaw anyway.” Another choked noise escaped from the prisoner. 

“Not sure he’s worth the effort,” Jo commented. 

Raph grunted, then dropped the man. He hit the ground hard, crumpling into a pile before scrambling back, gasping and coughing and holding his neck. 

“Wh-what – f-f – wh–” he was choking out. 

“Told you I had a boyfriend,” Jo said. 

By now tears were leaking from the guy’s eyes. He looked confused, scared, shocked; he was trembling, eyes wide and mouth open. 

Then, to her surprise, Raphael lifted his hand – revealing he’d taken the guy’s wallet at some point. Sneaky ninja! He pulled out a single white card from the dark leather. “I’m keepin’ this,” he said, tossing the wallet at the guy. “Expect me to check in on you.” 

His ID? Jo couldn’t help laughing. So this was the kind of thing Raphael and his brothers did? 

When the guy didn’t get up, just sat there shaking and staring, Raphael made an aggressive half-step towards him. Immediately the guy was on his feet, clumsily grasping at his wallet and sprinting back to the platform. 

Once he was out of sight, Jo gave her beau a big grin. “That was so cool,” she commented. 

Raphael didn’t share her humor. He was tense, all but vibrating with hostility. He turned to her, drawing in close and standing in a way that clearly felt protective – legs apart, head down, arms wide. Like he was shielding her as much as he could, just by standing close to her. 

Sweetheart. 

“He touch you?” he asked, voice straining. 

Shaking her head, she answered with a smile, “Not the way he wanted. I’m fine,” she promised. 

Muscles kept jumping in his jaw, his breathing deep and harsh. He probably wanted to turn around and murder that guy. 

Even though that was something she wouldn’t allow…and she knew he wouldn’t do…it still pleased her, somehow. The fact that he was more than likely willing to kill for her was strangely endearing. 

And kind of exciting. 

Right now, however, she needed to calm Raphael. He was unstable, probably thinking all kinds of horrible things – like what might have happened to her if he hadn’t been here. He wasn’t touching her, after all, and she knew what that meant: he was afraid he would snap and hurt her. She’d need to distract him from all that. 

Lifting her hands, she ran them up his chest to link her fingers behind his neck. “Come here,” she directed. She kept the pressure of her hands light, gently suggesting rather than demanding. 

After a moment, clearly trying to resist, he lowered his head to rest his forehead against hers. She stroked his cheeks, feeling his breath against her face and paying attention to each one. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he relaxed, his breaths evening out and his hands lifting to her sides. 

To her surprise, he knelt down before her and pressed his face to her chest. He was almost up to her shoulder even like this, she noted; without her heels his head would probably reach her chin. It was almost funny – when he stood upright, no slouching, he was a full head taller than her. When he was down on his knees, _she_ was a full head taller than _him_. It was a weird kind of balance. 

She slipped her arms around his neck, one hand giving little strokes and scratches to his shell. It seemed to work: he gave her a gentle nuzzle, rubbing his face against her skin. Honestly, she found that kind of adorable. He definitely had some animalistic impulses – not that she was surprised – and while she didn’t know what he was trying to accomplish with this one, it still made her smile. 

Now that he was notably more calm, she commented, “Did you call that guy a _pissant?”  
_

He laughed, just a few deep notes. Lifting his head to look at her, he replied, “Yeah. Seemed fittin’.” 

She had to agree with him there. “Feeling better now?” she asked, running the backs of her fingers against his cheek and petting his neck in an outpouring of affection. 

He tilted his head to accept it, even as he gave a dry chuckle. “You were just accosted, an’ you’re comfortin’ _me?”  
_

She made a show of pausing to glance around in thought, then deadpanned, “Uhh, yeah.” 

Shaking his head but obviously amused, he rose back to his feet. “Alright, c’mon. Don’t wanna be late.” He offered a hand again. 

As Jo took it, glad to be on the move again, her stomach chose then to give an annoyed grumble. She quirked a brow at Raphael, quipping, “My stomach agrees with you.” 

He chuckled again, then took the lead, holding her hand all the while.


	24. Dinner And A Confession

**Rating:** R (swearing)

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So far the date was an incredible victory. Jocelyn looked absolutely breathtaking, she’d loved the ballet, and next in line was dinner at a particular restaurant that was “closed for renovations”. 

Raphael couldn’t be more pleased with himself, even with that altercation in the subway – that turd deserved to get flushed, so to speak, but he’d had to pick between punishing the fucker and focusing on his date. Ultimately Jocelyn was more important, so he’d let the guy go. 

_After_ taking his ID. According to it, the guy’s name was Alejandro Rodriguez, he was five-foot-seven (shorter than Jocelyn, haha), and he lived in Queens. Raphael intended to check his background when he got back to the lair. Hopefully Alejandro had no criminal record – or nothing too damning on it, at least. 

Otherwise Raphael would have to tear him a new one just to make a point. For now, though, Alejandro was irrelevant. Granted, it was hard putting aside his anger and need to pummel the jackass, but Jocelyn had done a great job soothing that particular need. 

She truly was amazing. The first time she’d calmed him mid-rage, he’d wondered if it was a one-off thing. After all, he’d been in his home and it’d been Leo who’d triggered him. Everything was familiar and safe. He couldn’t count how many times he’d exploded thanks to something Leo had said or done. 

At this point it was expected. A routine had developed over the years as a result: Leo pissed him off, he went and pummeled the punching bag (envisioning Leo in its place), and eventually he got out the aggression and chilled out. 

Jocelyn managing to interrupt that routine and calm him down with just a few words and caresses had been a shock. 

He hadn’t known if she would be able to do it again, especially out in the city with a stranger as the cause. With anger making him shake and a deep need to tear off Alejandro’s limbs suffusing his thoughts, he’d been afraid that all his careful planning would come tumbling down, that the date would end because of his damn anger. He’d been telling himself to calm down, that Jocelyn hadn’t eaten yet and it was part of the plan to take her to dinner, but he’d also been scared to touch her or even say anything. 

He couldn’t hurt her. Not again – especially not less than twenty-four hours since the last time he’d hurt her. 

Yet, incredible being that she was, it took mere touches for her to stop the shakes and the violent thoughts. And he couldn’t explain why he’d gone so far as to rub his face against her; with vibrations running through his shell from her petting he’d just…had the impulse to do it. At least she hadn’t seemed to mind. 

Now with everything settled (and her stomach protesting vocally) he wasted no more time, leading them through the winding tunnels until he found the correct entrance. It was called “Teharu Japan” and it was, as the name suggested, a Japanese restaurant. [[Author’s Note: this is based on a sushi place my husband and I like to go to. I have no idea if such a restaurant actually exists in New York.]] 

He and his brothers had come here several times in the past. Initially they’d just happened upon the building mid-robbery with the owner bound in the kitchen. They’d put a stop to that, notified the police, then explained to the confused owner what they were and why they’d interfered. Since then he’d offered them free meals whenever they came around as thanks. 

For the sake of not appearing greedy, they’d done so sparingly – in the two years since then, they’d only come here seven times. Tonight was the eighth, and Raphael had warned the owner that he was bringing a date. 

Raphael climbed out of the sewer behind the store and knocked on the back door, Jocelyn still holding his hand in both of hers. She probably didn’t realize she was doing it, but every so often she ran her fingers over his wrist. 

He liked it when she did that. 

“The owner’s name is Kenshiro Minamoto,” he told her, “but he goes by ‘Mr. Ken’.” 

“Got it,” she said. “Though I thought Japanese custom was to use the word ‘san’?” 

“Means the same thing as ‘mister’,” he explained. “And it’s a suffix, an honorific, not a ‘word’.” 

“Oh.” 

The door swung open and Kenshiro gestured them inside. “Come in, come in,” he invited. “Raphael, nice to see you again.” His English was perfect and his accent almost nonexistent, reflecting his lack of care for his heritage. According to him, his parents had forced him to learn Japanese and he had never really enjoyed it. Over time he just stopped speaking it. 

He loved the food, though, hence his restaurant. 

Inside, the restaurant was dark. Raphael took stock: the main lights had been shut off everywhere except the kitchen, and several lanterns were lit and hanging from the ceiling in the seating area – specifically around one table. A dragon-shaped incense holder was nearby, burning something subtle and flowery that he couldn’t place. 

The sight of it gave him pause. He hadn’t expected this. “Uh, Mr. Ken? I didn’t ask for all that,” he commented. 

Jocelyn was clearly pleased, though. She gasped when she saw the table and the lights, squeezing his hand. 

Chuckling, Kenshiro replied, “No, but this is a date, is it not?” 

Looking up at Raphael, Jocelyn quipped, “Oh, I like him.” 

He gave her a half-glower, knowing she hadn’t meant it _romantically_ but having a hard time smothering a surge of jealousy regardless. Besides, the fact that she liked something _Kenshiro_ had done without Raphael having asked for it was just a little bit worrisome. 

What else would she _like_ about him before the end of the night? 

Kenshiro didn’t help matters, replying, “Ahh, you like me now, wait till you try my cooking.” 

“You’re talking to a cooking prodigy. Bring it,” Jocelyn shot back. 

Laughing, he retorted, “Alright, then. I’ll make sure to try extra hard. My reputation is at stake.” 

Raphael didn’t like the banter, either. Interrupting, he tugged Jo towards the table, saying, “Can’t eat till we sit. C’mon.” 

She all but skipped to a chair, ecstatic. 

And Raph couldn’t help but lean in towards Kenshiro, quietly adding, “And _you_ , quit the flirtin’.” 

A part of him was fully aware that they _weren’t_ flirting, but it was hard to deal with jealousy over his girlfriend – the whole concept was new to him. And, worse, Kenshiro was _human_. Like her. 

Logically, she should prefer humans over, well…Raphael. 

Hands up, Kenshiro said, “Wouldn’t dream of getting between you two.” 

“Good.” Possessive impulse sated, Raph went to his own chair and took a seat. Well, not a chair but a stool; turtle shells made it hard to sit in most chairs, so Kenshiro had accommodated the brothers by getting a few stools for them to use. 

By the time he was sitting down, he noticed the sly, suspicious look on Jocelyn’s face. “What?” he demanded, intentionally projecting innocence. 

“What was that whispering between you and Mr. Ken?” she asked. 

“Nothin’. Dinner stuff,” he answered. 

Her eyes narrowed on him. 

Kenshiro took pity on him, apparently, by coming over to deliver menus. Raph already had the whole thing memorized and knew what he wanted, but he gave it a cursory perusal all the same. Something might catch his eye, after all. 

Jocelyn barely gave it a glance before confessing to Kenshiro, “I don’t actually know what any of this is. I’ve never really had Japanese food. Except teriyaki chicken,” she added thoughtfully. 

He waved a hand. “Not a problem. I can pick for you, if you like.” 

“Uh, sure?” she said, sending Raphael a glance. 

Asking for his opinion? Shrugging, Raph suggested, “Tell ‘im what you like.” 

Whatever went through her head then, it must have been hilarious. She winced, snorting, and actually leaned over to duck her head under the table and laugh. Raph and Ken shared a glance, confused. 

After a moment she composed herself again and sat up straight, patting her throat. “Sorry,” she chuckled. “Uh, so,” she said to Kenshiro, “I prefer spicy foods with a lot of flavor. Nothing sour or tart, though.” 

He thought it over, then asked, “Do you like seafood?” 

“I…like pretty much all foods,” she laughed. “So, yes.” 

“Shrimp?” 

“Yes,” she nodded. 

“Ebi chili, then,” he deduced. “And for your drink?” 

“…Water?” she offered weakly. 

Another round of uncertain back-and-forth took place and Raphael ended up leaning on his elbow, cheek on his fist, thinking how cute Jocelyn was right then. He was so used to her being sure of herself, always knowing exactly what she wanted and how to get it. It was adorable seeing this side to her. 

It was like she’d suddenly grown nervous now that she was having to order unfamiliar food from a stranger in front of her boyfriend. She even seemed to notice him watching her and it made things worse, to the point where she actually _stuttered_. 

_So_ cute. 

It also surprised him that she liked spicy foods. Granted, he hadn’t had many meals with her, but no peppers or spicy sauces had been involved in them so far. Raph, himself, preferred meat to vegetables and sweet to spicy, but he’d still eat just about anything. At least neither of them liked tart things; they had that in common. 

Compared to Jocelyn’s adorable uncertainty, Raphael was as sure-footed as they came. When Kenshiro got around to him, it took seconds for him to have to his order taken. 

As their waiter-slash-cook left, Jocelyn started running her fingers back and forth over the edge of the table. 

“You look awkward,” Raph commented. 

She gave him an annoyed pout. 

Maybe taking her out for Japanese hadn’t been the best idea, but it’s not like he had any other options. He could have ordered something to be delivered and had her pick it up for them, he supposed, but then they wouldn’t be at a restaurant with unlimited time to just hang out and enjoy themselves. The ‘romantic’ part of the date would’ve been lessened. 

Looking to defuse the situation, he added, “It’s cute. _You’re_ cute.” 

And she glanced away, grinning and biting her lip. Mission successful. She stopped the nervous gestures then and asked, “So what’s the deal with this place and Mr. Ken? How’d you make friends?” 

That was kind of a fun story, actually. While Kenshiro started up their dinner, Raphael explained – including little tidbits like how during the fight Mikey slipped on a damp rag that’d been thrown on the floor and accidentally knocked over Leo; how Donny kept pausing to try the multitude of sauces behind the counter; how the leader of the attacking gang looked so damn cliche in his biker jacket with spiked shoulders and fingerless gloves… 

They were all in prison now, that guy and his gang. Right where they belonged. 

Raph and Jo wandered through several varied subjects as they chatted, even after the food was delivered. As they did so, he started noticing things – little things that he’d kind of seen before but hadn’t really stuck out to him. For one thing, when a subject made her uncomfortable (talking about her parents, usually), she started _arranging_ things. 

In this case, she arranged the shrimp on her plate into groups of three circling the edge of the dish. She didn’t seem to realize she was doing it, hardly even glancing down. She started stabbing the shrimp through the fork prongs, three at a time. 

Always three. 

And then she spread out the remaining groups to account for the one she’d just eaten. The symmetry was impeccable. 

Just a little bit concerned about that, he asked, “Why do you do that?” When she answered with a confused ‘what?’ he gestured her plate. 

Once she looked down and saw it, she looked surprised. That meant she really _hadn’t_ realized she’d been doing it. Then, embarrassed, she bit her lips and, wincing, confessed, “Uh, well, I have OCD.” 

That’s what he’d been leaning towards. Nodding, he said, “I see. You don’t seem to do it much, though.” 

Shrugging, she replied, “Dr. Dewitt said I have the most mild case she’s ever seen. Besides which, I’ve been fighting it.” 

“That why your room is so ordered?” he wondered. Things weren’t in perfectly arranged angles or anything, but he _had_ noticed that nothing ever seemed to move. Over the months he’d known her, over the weeks he’d had access to her bedroom, nothing had changed places. 

An old tutu that hung from the edge of her bookcase was still there. A series of ribbons decorated the rim of her vanity mirror and not a single loop was out of place. There was a pile of makeup items and nail polish bottles on that same desk and though she clearly used them, they were always in the same spots. At best something new was added every so often; nothing shifted places. Even her bed was constantly made just so with a particular yellow stuffed duck by her pillow. 

Organized chaos. 

His room was similar in that respect – but he’d never moved an item and then put it back in the exact same spot. Heck, his collection of magazines had gone from one corner to another to a table to under his bed and back again, and just in the space of a month. And, now that he thought about it, he realized Jocelyn had always _noticed_ that. Every time she came to his room and something had changed places since the last visit, she’d seemed to look right at it. 

Now Jocelyn nodded, agreeing, “Yeah, that’d be why. My room is kinda like my safe space, y’know? It’s where I let the OCD go. I figure if I let it order my room, then it won’t be so hard to manage away from home.” At that she glared down at her plate, as if the shrimp had somehow betrayed her. 

“I take it it’s pretty hard to control?” he checked. 

“That’d be the ‘compulsive’ part, yeah,” she quipped, sarcastic. 

He didn’t _want_ to feel annoyed by that – he knew she was mad at herself, not him – but he still snapped back, “Well, fuck, _sorry_ for not gettin’ how somethin’ works that I don’t have.” 

She glowered at him. 

Shit. _Good job, Raph,_ he sneered at himself. Awkward, he absently rubbed at his neck, huffing a little to get out the irritation. Then he hedged, “Look, I’m sorry, that was mean. I just wanna understand. I might be able to help if I do.” When she didn’t say anything, lightly poking her remaining (exactly eighteen) pieces of shrimp, he ventured, “You said you fight it, right?” 

“I try,” was her quiet reply. 

“Tell me about it,” he invited her. “What bothers you most? How does it work?” 

She took a breath, thinking, then finally looked up again. “Well, everyone’s different. Usually you see clean freaks, weirdly precise order and/or some obsessive numbering, but it can be all sorts of stuff. Dr. Dewitt said she had one guy who would jerk his head whenever he thought about his ex-girlfriend and wouldn’t touch anything with his bare hands. Germaphobe.” 

“And for you?” he pressed. 

“For me, I just need everything to be in its place,” she explained. “I don’t obsessively wash my hands like some do and I don’t have verbal or motor tics either. But I also have a compulsion for the number ‘three’ and an aversion to the number ‘four’.” 

He glanced down at her plate. “So ‘three’ is good and ‘four’ is bad,” he concluded. 

“Yeah.” 

“Why those numbers?” Now that he thought back, he could see the ‘three’ thing. When dancing sometimes she’d do spins in threes. He’d thought it was just a ballet thing, something about balance or timing. It hadn’t occurred to him that it was a ‘Jocelyn’ thing instead. 

She hesitated on that one, looking down. “Well, Dr. Parker said it’s probably because of my family. When my dad died I had a really hard time coping with it, so ‘three’ became the number I obsessed over. Family of three. And ‘four’ is an aversion because…when Dad died, Mom was pregnant.”

A chill went through Raphael then. She’d never mentioned a sibling, and he was starting to guess why. 

Idly dragging her fork over the plate – he forcibly ignored the scraping noises from the actions – she went on, “I was gonna have a brother. Antony Apollo Delaghy. Mom was in the second trimester. But the stress and heartbreak of losing Dad sent her into early labor. Antony didn’t make it.” 

By now he didn’t know what to say. She’d lost her father _and_ her baby brother, all at seven years old. And though Raphael knew that these things happened – commonly – knowing that it happened to someone close to him made it all the worse. 

“…I’m so sorry, Jocelyn,” he commented softly. Noting how quiet it’d become in the restaurant, though, had him glancing away from her and towards the kitchen counter. Mr. Ken was in earshot, after all, and Raphael found the man studiously looking away, enraptured with his phone. 

Subdued, Jocelyn replied, “…S’alright. It was a long time ago.” 

A whole decade, in fact. But he knew these things didn’t fade easily. “So,” he ventured, “you avoid the number ‘four’ because of your…your brother?” He was trying his best to be gentle but wasn’t sure how well that came across. 

He wasn’t exactly practiced in the art of verbal compassion, after all. 

Offering another weak shrug, she said, “Pretty much. I went from a family of three to a promised family of four and then down to two in the space of a few months. And it gave me a brother complex on top of it,” she added, sounding annoyed by that. Another compulsion that she hated? 

And clarity hit him. _Michelangelo_. She was so defensive of Mikey because she had a brother complex. A few times so far she’d physically gotten between Raph and Mikey to stop an altercation. It’d gotten to the point where Mikey just ran to her if Raph was in a violent mood – they all knew she’d stop it. She _hated_ when any of the brothers hit each other, despite it being (mostly) fun and games for them. 

They healed in a fraction of the time it took a human, so what did they care if someone gave someone else a bruise? Even Splinter let them have their spats. 

Well, _Jocelyn_ cared, as it turned out. April left them to their shenanigans, as well – but not Jocelyn. He guessed she was just treating them as _she_ would treat her own brother, which, in a way, was a good sign. 

It meant two things: first, she was seeing his brothers as family, and second, she treated family well. For someone who (like him) had very aggressive and violent early teenage years, that was promising. (They’d talked about their pasts before and she’d mentioned how she used to start fights all the time.) 

For now, though, he should change the subject. “How does it feel?” he asked. “When you start getting that compulsive part?” 

She paused at that, thinking, then began, “It’s like, uh…like anxiety. Something’s _wrong_ and I have to fix it, y’know? The anxiety doesn’t go away until I do, so it’s sort of a relief to just give in to the compulsions.” 

“So arranging things in threes kind of feels good?” he checked. She nodded. “So how does ‘four’ work, then?” 

“Four is…chaos,” Jocelyn began. “It’s kind of like ‘three’ is putting a band-aid on a cut. ‘Four’ is ripping it off. You can handle it, it’s not that bad, but you don’t want it…and…and if you see it coming, you tense up. That’s just how it is.” 

As she spoke, Raph noticed her edging her fork out of her line of sight. “Keep going,” he suggested. 

Her eyes looked far away and unfocused by now, her thoughts having delved deep in her mind. “You have three fingers. That’s good. Mr. Ken has four freckles on his face. That’s bad. You have three brothers, which is good, but that brings you to four, which is bad. But you also have Splinter, so that’s five and not _too_ bad.” 

He was definitely starting to see the neurotic part of the disorder now. Rather than annoy him, though, knowing she had such issues just made him want to help her conquer them. 

“What’s wrong with the fork?” he asked, though he had an idea. 

“Four prongs,” she answered, sounding exhausted. 

At that, Mr. Ken spoke up from behind the counter. “I could check, see if I have one with three–” 

“No!” she snapped at him, suddenly aggressive. “Do _not_ accommodate this. I don’t want this catered to, I want it fucking destroyed!” 

“Jocelyn,” Raph began, bringing her attention back to him. Put simply, he was concerned – not just because she had OCD but because of how sharply she’d spoken to Mr. Ken. 

The man had been kind enough to close down the shop for the night so Raphael could have a date here. If it ended badly, if Jocelyn proved too unruly, Kenshiro might rescind his ‘free meals’ offer. On top of which, the last thing Raphael wanted was for anyone to think badly of Jocelyn. 

She was perfect and incredible and gorgeous, even if she was also a little too harsh right then. 

When she glanced back at Raphael, he saw chagrin twist her expression. “Sorry,” she muttered quietly. Then, with a shake of her head, she looked towards Kenshiro and said more loudly, “I’m sorry, Mr. Ken.” 

“It’s alright,” Kenshiro told her. “You’re not the first person with OCD to come into my restaurant, and you won’t be the last.” 

Wincing, she said, “Ugh, bet that sucked. How do I rank?” 

“So far…the least disruptive,” he answered honestly. “One older woman ended up flipping a table over – another customer’s table – because their plates were the wrong color.” 

Nodding, Jocelyn commented, “OCD is _not_ very friendly. I should be surprised, but I’ve been to some support groups, and…well, after some of those stories, table-flipping isn’t so bad.” 

_Raphael_ was surprised. “Is it really so bad?” he asked, all the more concerned after that statement. Could _she_ have similar episodes? 

“Not usually, no,” she answered him. “But it _is_ a neurosis. At any time there could be some…unpredictable behavior. But it does depend largely on the kind of help a person gets, and how severe their ‘tics’ are. You’re more likely to meet someone with OCD and never know it than see it right away. Like I said, mine is very mild, so you’d never know if I never said anything. And I’m low-risk, so ‘table-flipping’ isn’t something I’m likely to do. Some people, though…” 

As she trailed off, he noticed she looked sympathetic rather than annoyed. He understood that, he thought – when you had a mental or physical disorder, you understood it better than anyone who doesn’t. She knew the struggles of dealing with OCD in a way he never would. 

But she said she wanted it ‘destroyed’. He could, at least, try to help her with that. So when he caught her staring at her plate again, at the trios of shrimp in six evenly-spaced groups, he reached out and nudged her plate. There was just enough sauce to cause the pieces to slide and spread out. 

Wrecking the symmetry. 

Jocelyn gasped at the sight, clenching her fork tight – likely battling an urge to “fix it”. But after a moment she let out a ragged breath. Looking up at him, she gave him a smile. “Thank you,” she said. 

He smiled back, thinking that she’d probably never had someone intentionally disrupt her threes before. “You might not thank me in the future,” he warned. 

Tisking, she replied, “Planning on doing a lot more?” 

“Yep.” 

He thought he saw an extra shine to her eyes then, thick with emotion, and she said, “Good.” 

Honestly, Raphael had never felt more like a hero than he did right then. Sure, he’d fought crime organizations, mutants, aliens, robots, and ninjas…but this was his first time helping someone fight their own demons. He suspected the end of this road would feel even better than it had when the entire police force recognized him and his brothers and gave them all keys to the city. 

Because the woman before him was more important to him than the entire police force.


	25. Starlight Climax

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing/sexual references)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Once dinner was over (now at just a few minutes till midnight), the couple thanked Kenshiro for his generosity and said their goodbyes to him. Now outside and in the cramped alley, Raphael asked if there was anything Jocelyn wanted to do. 

_Good question,_ she thought. So far the night had been incredible. First the play with Misty Copeland, then an isolated dinner (where she got the chance to tease Raphael in public – sort of – by running her foot up and down his legs; his expressions and reactions had been _priceless_ ), not to mention she’d confessed the most embarrassing thing about her…and her lover, rather than display annoyance or irritation, had decided to _help_ her with it. 

She couldn’t have asked for anything better. This was easily the best date of her life, and though she didn’t think too hard about it, it might just be the best _night_ of her life as well. 

If anything, all she wanted now was…

“Honestly, baby,” she answered at length, “you did everything right. This has been the best night of my life.” A smug grin spread across his face as she spoke, and this time she didn’t bother trying to one-up him. 

He deserved his satisfaction. 

She went on, “The only thing I want now is to return the favor. So if I could just turn that back around…what do _you_ want?” 

_Say ‘a blowjob’,_ she thought. She’d get down on her knees right here and have at it if he asked. Sure, they were in a public alleyway, but somehow that just made the idea all the more tempting. Someone could _see_ them – and her belly quivered with excitement at the thought. 

Instead, he looked at her with surprise. “Me?” he checked. Gesturing her, he said, “Tonight was about making _you_ happy.” 

“And you got ten for ten on that one,” she promised him. He grinned again. “But trust me, baby, making you happy makes _me_ happy, too. Win-win.” 

Now he was starting to look uncomfortable. He shuffled just a little, replying, “Jocelyn…with you here, I got everything I want.” 

_Sweetheart!_ She grinned, looking away to hide just how deep that statement struck her. Raphael seemed to have a similar reaction, because when she looked up again, he was covering his mouth with his hand and pointedly gazing off to his left. 

She nudged his arm playfully. “Alright, Flirty McSmoothtalk,” she started. He chuckled. “Seriously, though, there’s always something more to want. Help a girl out, here. What can _I_ do for _you?”  
_

At that, he paused, giving it a moment of thought. He looked at her for a second, then at the area around them: the dumpsters to his left, the sewer entrance by his feet, the fire escape behind her, the rooftops nearby. 

Then he got a sly smile and, looking down at her again, said, “I want to show you my world.” 

Confused, she tilted her head at him. The only thing that came to mind was his home. “Explain,” she prompted. 

He pointed off into the distance. 

It took her a moment. She followed his point as well as she could, but the only thing that stood out was a skyscraper. All the buildings around it had to be ten stories and under, but that one was at least three times that height. As it dawned on her, she speared him with a horrified look. 

“No.” 

Grinning, he replied, “Oh, yeah.” 

Gesturing heavenward, she blurted, “Did you forget I’m not fond of heights?!” 

“Relax, you can trust me,” he told her. 

“I trust _you_ just fine,” she retorted. “It’s the pavement I don’t trust.” 

He snorted. “Jocelyn, I won’t drop you,” he promised. 

Her blood iced over when he said that. “Wait. Were you planning on carrying me while you climbed the _outside_ of that building?” 

“Well…yeah,” he answered. As if it were obvious? 

“…That’s an ultra ‘no’,” she said. 

Arms wide, he countered, “You asked what I wanted. Well, I want to show you the kind of shit I do on a nightly basis, and that includes climbing really tall buildings. The view is worth it,” he promised. 

Her jaw tensed and flexed, fear battling with love. He was right – she _had_ asked what he wanted, and if this was it, then…

…well, would it really be that bad? She _did_ trust him, after all, and she knew she was safe in his arms. The night they met, he’d caught her from a fall off a rooftop. Before then she’d had a strong fear of falling off the roof, which was why she’d always stayed away from the edges. 

Afterwards she’d been much more calm, despite the horrifying event – at least while Raphael was there. She knew he’d never let her fall. 

And if she could trust him to catch her if she fell, then she could trust him to carry her without dropping her. All she had to do was…

* * *

“Close your eyes.” 

She did. 

The climb took a long time, and she kept her eyes closed tight the whole way. She clung to Raphael like a damn monkey, chest to chest, arms around his neck and her legs through the belt part of his harness because his shell was just too big for her legs to loop around. It was a snug fit, tight against his side and shell. 

Several minutes passed as he climbed, the wind slowly growing stronger and colder, the chill getting to her despite how warm her lover was. 

When they reached the top, she felt him climb _over_ something and drop down, and the rush of the fall brought out a whimper. Settled now, he knelt down to help extricate her from him. She eased her eyes open with reluctance, unsure what she’d find and if she really wanted to see it. And now that she was looking around, getting her bearings, she saw that the roof was much smaller than she’d thought. 

It couldn’t be more than ten-by-ten feet, with tall fences around the edges and a trap door for access. 

Jo hugged herself against the cold, trying not to look too far out at the horizon and trying not to think about just how high up she was. Her hair was whipping from the wind, making her wish she’d brought a hair-tie to hold it back. 

And then something heavy draped over her shoulders. Surprised, she examined it to find she was now wearing a blanket, the fabric soft and smooth and deep red with a wavy black checkerboard design on it. 

“…Oh, my god,” she sighed, giving Raphael an exhausted glare. “This was part of your plan? Seriously?” 

He was already smiling, but now he grinned wide. A part of her wanted to hit him. 

She turned away from him with an annoyed huff, wrapping the blanket fully around her. 

His arms circled her. “All I had t’do,” he murmured against her ear, “was get you to agree. I wasn’t gonna drag you up here kickin’ and screamin’, but there’s something up here I really wanted you to see.” 

It was hard to stay mad at him, especially when he whispered like that. It was something of a mild turn-on, his sexy voice coupled with his hot breath on her skin. She melted like a stick of butter. 

“Oh, fine,” she sighed. 

He kissed her cheek, then led her with an arm around her shoulders to one of the edges. Thanks to the eight-foot-tall fence that circled this roof, she didn’t feel _too_ uncomfortable to be that close. The vertical bars were barely far enough apart for her to fit her arm through, so there was _no_ chance of her slipping through and tumbling to her death. 

Standing right behind her, he pointed at something in the distance. It was so far away and so dark out that she couldn’t see anything aside from some faint lights – until he brought out the binoculars again. Shaking her head, she tried to see what he wanted her to see… 

It took a moment of careful scanning and him helping to guide her before she found it: a festival of some kind. From this distance, even with the binoculars, she could only see colored lights and some movement, leaving her unsure what kind of event was taking place. 

But there were definitely some rides involved. One of them in particular actually resembled a ballerina, the ride wide with white lights on each of the seats. When it started, the whole thing lifted up and started spinning and tilting, looking like a tutu spinning round and round. 

Lowering the binoculars, now that she knew where to look, it looked even more like a kind of ethereal dancer. She could almost pretend she was seeing a giant, stardust-speckled ballet. 

Dumbfounded, she leaned back against Raphael, saying, “I can’t believe you…even when I want to do something for _you_ , you turn it into doing something for _me_.” 

The realization left her stunned. How in the _hell_ had he managed this? First the ballet – which, by itself, would have been enough to make her night perfect – then dinner with him in a _restaurant_ , and now this? Had the stars aligned to create this incredible night, or was Raphael just that good at winging it? 

Hugging her tight, he replied, “Making you happy makes _me_ happy, too.” 

Clever ninja, using her own words against her. 

Giving up, she looked up at him, lifting a hand to pull him down to her by the neck. The kiss they shared then was one of the sweetest, most loving they’d had. 

A small part of her wanted to leave it at that – but the majority wanted to give him more. He’d done so much for her tonight, and she’d honestly feel bad if she didn’t give him something in return. Figuring he wouldn’t want something sexual (well, he’d want it, but he wouldn’t accept it), she wondered if she could perhaps give him a little massage… 

Her plan was sidelined when the kiss turned deeper, his tongue venturing past her lips. She couldn’t help a little moan, her nails starting to scratch at his flesh. The binoculars slipped from her grasp, forgotten. 

Oh, she liked this – liked kissing over her shoulder. Something about it felt sexier than usual, leading her to believe it would never fail to arouse her. But, she admitted, it was going to start straining her neck if it lasted too long. A shame, that, because she honestly didn’t want to stop. 

Turning to face him, she let the blanket fall off her shoulders, focusing entirely on kissing her lover. 

He didn’t share her gusto, though; he drew back almost immediately, saying, “Jocelyn, the blanket…”

Ignoring that, she stood on her toes to bring them closer together (not that she could get much taller with these particular heels on), replying, “I don’t need it.” 

Evading her, he sidestepped to retrieve it. “I don’t want you gettin’ cold,” he told her, draping it over her again. 

“Baby, you make me so hot I don’t feel the cold,” she said, cupping his cheek. 

He grinned, dropping his chin and shaking his head. “Just keep it on,” he pressed. Meeting her gaze, he added, “For me.” 

Well, shoot. She couldn’t turn that down, now could she? 

“Fine, fine,” she allowed, shifting it so it’d sit comfortably on her. Jutting her chin at him, she asked, “Aren’t _you_ cold?” 

He shook his head. “The mutagen in our blood keeps us comfy. Warm when it’s cold, cool when it’s hot.” 

“Kinda like being warm-blooded, but more efficient?” 

“Somethin’ like that. Ask Donny if you really wanna know; I don’t get it,” he admitted. 

Jocelyn doubted she’d get it, either. Putting it aside, she ran her hands over his shoulders, reminded of her massage idea. 

She’d barely done anything but he was already displaying he liked it, slipping his eyes closed and giving a pleased hum. Grinning, she kept it up, petting up and down his neck and shoulders. For having such rough skin, one would think it would abrade her palms – yet it didn’t. It actually felt nice. Another effect of the mutagen, maybe? She wouldn’t be surprised; if it could maintain the inner temperature of a cold-blooded reptile, it could make tough yet smooth skin. 

After a few moments of this, he looked down at her, suspicious. “What are you up to?” he wondered. 

“Nothin’,” she answered honestly. “Just felt like catering to you.” 

He looked…surprised by that, she realized. Like he still didn’t quite believe this was real, that her affection was genuine and that he deserved to be pampered. But after a moment of stun, he smiled and leaned in. Arms circling her, he gave her another sweet kiss. 

_You’re the best,_ that one said. She could almost feel his appreciation through their skin. 

God, she loved him. Right then she ached to say it aloud, but a little fear held her back: the uncertainty of _his_ feelings. 

She couldn’t be sure that he was in love with her, too, and she hesitated to say it, lest he panic. If he loved her back but hadn’t realized it, the words might end up wrecking the rest of the night. And if he _didn’t_ love her, if this was just – if _she_ was just the only shot he believed he’d have at dating, she’d be crushed. 

The chance that he was in love with her felt small and fragile compared to that. No, it was better to hold her tongue for now. 

Until she was _sure_. 

* * *

Raphael was glad that this building was isolated in terms of other high-rise buildings, and that it lacked a tower like so many others did. It still had the customary red lights to warn passing planes of its existence, but those were a few stories down. The low amount of lights nearby meant they could see the stars fairly well – for New York’s night sky, anyway. 

He’s never really been one to stargaze before, but right then it was relaxing and comfortable – though he admitted it wasn’t the _stars_ that relaxed him. 

It was the company. 

He’d reclined against the fencing, and Jocelyn had curled up against him, wrapped in her blanket and seated on his thigh. Though he worried that she was uncomfortable, she assured him she was fine. Her cheeks felt cold when he stroked them, however, making him realize in hindsight that he hadn’t quite adequately provided her with the means to ward off the cold. 

It was a late Spring night, sure, but up this high the season didn’t matter. It was cold, end of story. It gave him one more thing to consider for their next date – provided she wanted another, anyway. She’d told him this was the best night of her life (and he _may_ have felt a smattering of butterflies at the words), sure, but that didn’t necessarily mean she’d want another. 

“When I was a kid,” Jocelyn began, thoughtful, “I had the constellations memorized. Even with the crappy New York smog, I could tell you where Orion was, where the Pegasus was, the Little and Big Dipper, and all of the zodiacs. I’m not sure when I forgot all that…” 

“Maybe when ballet took over?” he offered. He liked hearing about her childhood; their close ages often made him wonder if they’d liked and done the same things at the same times. They’d certainly both been raucous and confrontational teens, after all. 

“Maybe,” she hedged. “But I was five when I started dancing. I remember…” She hesitated then, voice catching in her throat. 

Concerned, he stroked her cheek with his thumb, looking down at her. She was still gazing up at the sky. “You alright?” he ventured. 

She turned her head into his palm, nuzzling him. “Yeah, just…thinking about my dad.” 

Those words brought up just a _little_ bit of panic. He didn’t want her to fall into sorrow again, to devolve into mournful sobbing. “What about him?” he asked, trying to mask the fear in his voice. 

_Don’t cry, don’t cry, please don’t cry,_ he begged. He’d do everything he could to soothe her if she did, of course, but suffice to say it wasn’t the end to their date that he’d envisioned. 

Giving a thoughtful hum, she started, “Well, when he was in the hospital, getting treatment…Mom and me would stop by almost every day. One time he complained that his room didn’t have a window, so he couldn’t see the moon or the stars. So I started telling him the phases of the moon and the visible constellations every day I saw him.” 

She hesitated again, then said, “Two full moons passed while he was stuck in that bed.” 

That was something Raphael couldn’t imagine – nor did he want to. Watching your father waste away from cancer for months, and worse, having been a child while it happened… She’d probably even been too young to fully grasp death. He could only imagine how difficult it must have been for her…

He wanted to offer some form of placation and comfort, but he wasn’t sure how she would react. In the past she’d shown irritation about such things; only after her crying bout had she become receptive of that kind of compassion. 

So he took a guess and asked, “How do you feel? S’there anything you need me to do?” 

“Mm-mm,” she hummed, shaking her head. “It’s actually gotten a lot easier, talking about him.” Then she shifted, sitting up and twisting to face him. Arms crossed on his chest, she rested her head on them and said, “I appreciate you asking, though. I know I can be kinda…confrontational about Dad.” 

He offered a little shrug. “S’alright. You love him, I get it.” 

At that, Jocelyn speared him with a curious, measuring kind of look. 

“What?” he prompted. 

“You said ‘love’, not ‘loved’,” she observed. “Present tense.” 

“Yeah, well…it’s not like you suddenly stopped loving him just cause he died,” Raph pointed out. 

She smiled. “You’re right,” she agreed, voice soft and quiet. 

He smiled back, then commented, “You know, right now, from this angle…” 

Curious, she tilted her head at him. 

“…you look like a turtle in its shell.” 

“Oh, my god!” she laughed, sitting up and slapping his arm and dislodging the blanket in the process. 

Chuckling, himself, he pulled the blanket back up over her shoulders. She fluffed her hair up and out of its confines, and for a moment he was struck by how beautiful she was. With little more than moonlight to illuminate her, she almost looked like an actress from an old black and white movie. 

She would’ve had entire generations of teenage boys and young men enraptured with her, had she lived in the 40s. She would’ve had _droves_ of lovesick fans. Actors, millionaires and princes would’ve courted her. 

And instead, she was here, she was _his_. The knowledge made his heart skip a beat. How lucky could a mutant be? She was _gorgeous,_ especially now, with some dramatic makeup on. Her lips were such a lovely dark red, for one thing, and the black eyeliner she wore with red eyeshadow above _and_ below it hit close to home for him. 

He didn’t want to assume, but it definitely looked like she’d modeled her makeup after _him_. 

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he heard himself say. And the parallel wasn’t lost on him; just the night before she’d said almost the same thing to _him_. 

He still felt a little giddy over that. _You’re so fuckin’ handsome,_ she’d said – the words so unexpected, and he so unprepared to handle them, that he’d almost _giggled_. Honestly, she was too much for him sometimes. She was absolutely crazy, he just knew it, and he absolutely loved his insane little human. 

She smiled wide, one corner lifting higher than the other, giving him a flattered yet sly look. “You try’na get under my skirt?” she teased. 

“No,” he answered honestly, chuckling. 

She tisked. “Darn.” He reached up, stroking her freckled cheek, and she said, “Honest to god, baby, you make me wanna make love to you so bad.” 

Though her words lit a fire in him, it also drained his good humor. He let his hand drop, glancing away from her. Just last night, he’d _proven_ he couldn’t be trusted with her fragile body. No matter how much he wanted her, the reality of the imbalance between his control and strength left him too scared to try again. 

He knew he _would_ , though, eventually – Jocelyn was too tempting to deny her for long – but for now, he had a hard enough time just _touching_ her. 

Though Raphael wanted to say something along those lines, it turned out he didn’t have to. His little lover just leaned in, kissing his cheek and linking her arms around his neck. 

Then she started to sing. “Just a kiss on your lips in the moonlight, just a touch of the fire burnin’ so bright…” 

He couldn’t help smiling. She had a pretty good singing voice, and it made him join in: “No, I don’t wanna mess this thing up, I don’t wanna push too far…” He trailed off, though, because she’d stopped and pinned him with a surprised look. “What?” he demanded. 

**[“You can sing?”](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DuE-k3Isqh74&t=ZjQwMmIyNGM0NGNjNTcxMjI2NzM2NjI2NGEzZGQ2Zjk0MzNiYzc5MixURGRxYlBoZw%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F169247071989%2Fthe-dancer-part-23&m=0)** she asked, eyes wide. [[Author’s Note: that video is of Alan Ritchson, Raphael’s actual Paramount actor, singing.]]

…He could? “Uhh, can I?” he returned, suddenly feeling awkward. 

“Uhh, yeah,” she intoned. She gave a little bounce, jostling him. “Keep going!” she prompted. “I wanna hear more.” 

Oh, god. This was embarrassing – he hadn’t even known he could sing, had never even _tried_ , and now his girlfriend was demanding it. Sure, he could beatbox, and Mikey was _insistent_ that the four of them “put out albums” two or three times a year, but rapping and singing were wholly different things. 

Still, she’d asked, so he tried. Picking up where he’d left off, he did his best to match how he remembered the song going, both in pitch and verses. 

He kept glancing away, though. It was hard enough just remembering the lyrics to the song and dealing with the sudden knowledge that he was a good singer, but having Jocelyn stare at him expectantly the whole time? 

_Awkward_. 

Halfway through the song his nerves ran too high and he gave up, snapping, “Alright, I’m done!” 

Was he pouting? He felt like he was pouting. 

Jocelyn giggled, shifting to snuggle into him. Though her affection warmed him, it couldn’t _quite_ battle how freaking embarrassed he felt right then. Luckily she didn’t press for more – or tease him, for that matter. He held her loosely, petting her hair, but couldn’t bring himself to look at her just yet. 

She kissed his neck, then began, “You know what this means, right?” 

He dreaded asking. 

“Someday I’m gonna get you to sing a _whole_ song for me.”

Dropping his head back with a huff, he glowered at the sky. A moment later, though, and he found himself smiling. Embarrassed or not, _Jocelyn_ was happy, and as he’d said earlier…that was the whole point of tonight’s date. 

It was a shining victory.


	26. Ferdinand

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing/sexual references)

* * *

* * *

* * *

When Raphael woke up, it was to the sound of metal clanging and fleshy thuds. He jolted awake, one arm instinctively clutching his slumbering lover against his chest while the other sought out his sai, ready to fight. 

“Whoa, it’s just us, bro!” 

Mikey? 

Another second was all it took to relax again, realizing that the noise was just his brothers reaching him. Donny was the last to clamber over the railing, his landing a little less noisy than Mikey and Leo’s. Raph rubbed at his eyes, grasping at his memories as he fought off lethargy. 

That’s right – after Jocelyn badgered him into singing for her, she’d snuggled into him and fallen asleep. He’d been unable (and unwilling) to muster up the will to wake her up, so he’d just held her instead, eventually drifting off, himself. 

It was dawning now, the sky turning a brilliant orange to the east. Crap. 

He stretched out in his spot, still reluctant to wake Jocelyn but knowing he had to. It was _way_ past time to deliver her back home; he’d bet Cecilia was going to skin him and hang it up on her wall when he got there. 

And he found it odd that all three of his brothers had come here. Glancing between them, he asked, “What’re you all doing here?” 

“You weren’t answering,” Leo told him. 

That made Raph pause. He dug into is belt to retrieve his phone – four missed calls from Donny. Great, he’d forgotten to unmute the phone. Waving the phone, a little embarrassed, he explained, “S’on vibrate.” 

And he’d left his CB radio behind, figuring he wouldn’t need it now that he had a phone. Besides, it was easier to carry the cell than strap his radio to his back. He preferred not having it – the weight wasn’t much, but it was enough to throw him off sometimes. 

Now he noticed that Mikey was looking at Jocelyn with a pinched, sad expression. Jealousy. Great, now Raph felt bad for freaking napping with his girlfriend. 

“Patience,” he said, and Mikey glanced at him, surprised. “You’ll find yours.” 

Mikey looked away, jaw tight. 

Best to leave that be, he figured. Focusing on Jocelyn, he started the (time-consuming) task of waking her up. He pet her neck and cheek, calling, “Jocelyn, wake up…c’mon, babe.” 

When she didn’t respond other than to give an annoyed grunt (he chuckled at that), he moved to sit up, forcing her to shift. Brows pinched, she shoved his hands away from her, though she _did_ sit up– 

Only to yelp and recoil when it turned out her hair had gotten tangled in his plastron. He winced, immediately trying to untangle the curls. 

She batted at his hands, saying (slurring), “S-stop…let th’ master handle it…” She had to blink hard at first, then her dexterous digits got to work. 

“Sorry,” he apologized. 

“N’ your fault,” she answered. “S’just one of th’ hazards of bein’ curly…hair…” She paused, halfway realizing she wasn’t making sense, then corrected, “ _Having_ curly hair.” 

It was hard, resisting the urge to laugh. The fact that she had to pause to think about her words was freaking adorable. 

His brothers didn’t comment on it, but he could tell they were amused, too. A part of Raph was pissed off at that – only _he_ was allowed to find her cute! – but he knew he couldn’t exactly control their opinions. Besides, throwing a fit about it would just give them more ammunition against him, more reason to tease him. 

He already knew he was going to catch shit for sleeping out in the open with her. The last thing he needed to do was add to the growing pile of stuff they were undoubtedly going to sling at him. 

Soon enough Jocelyn was free, and she tossed her hair back over her shoulder in victory. A few strands had broken and were still stuck to him, but she didn’t seem to notice. She got to her feet and arched, stretching her back, the blanket pooling around her feet. He heard several ‘pops’ from the motion. 

It made him feel worse. A stiff back meant she’d been uncomfortable, which is something he should’ve predicted. Damn it, he shouldn’t have let her fall asleep to begin with – he should’ve just taken her home. He’d been selfish, wanting to stay with her for as long as he could, and her discomfort was a direct result of that. Guilt filled him. What a _great_ way to end his first date! 

He also just noticed her face and arm bore wrinkles in the pattern of his plastron. Though that also made him feel a little bad, it still amused the hell out of him, and he struggled not to laugh. He’d forgotten about that: human skin was easy to indent. 

Noted for the future. 

He got up as she noticed his brothers and blurted, “What’re you guys doing here? You weren’t invited.” 

Now he _did_ laugh, explaining, “She’s still half-asleep.” He patted her head; she shoved his hand away. 

Mikey started to answer, but she cut him off before he could get out more than the word “we”. 

“M’not,” she spat at him, annoyed. 

Chuckling, Raph told her, “Yes, you are.” 

“I’m not!” she whined, insistent. 

Mikey snickered, obviously trying to resist the urge but failing. Donny was little better, grinning and covering his mouth as he fought off the laughs. Leo was only one remotely composed, and even _he_ was struggling to hold a straight face. 

Raphael gave in, replying, “Alright, alright. Fine. You’re up. Happy?” 

She pouted. With her tired face and smudged eyeshadow and circular wrinkles from his plastron, it was all the funnier. Honestly, she resembled a toddler right then. If not for the skimpy dress she wore, she may as well have been one. 

Not that he was stupid enough to tell her that. 

“Alright, come on,” he prompted, kneeling down and gesturing her closer. 

She stared at him, baffled. 

“I’m gonna take you home,” he explained. His plan was to carry her back down the way he’d gotten her up here, with her legs through his harness. 

Another moment passed as her expression grew steadily more confused. Then she seemed to come to her senses, glancing around. As horror started to take over, she whispered, “Oh, my god, I never went home…” 

He couldn’t help a wince. He could imagine she was thinking about what she was going to say to her mother now, and whatever argument they were going to have was all his fault. Sure, they hadn’t decided on a time to have her back home, but it kind of went without say that the answer should’ve been “before dawn”. Not to mention she hadn’t brought her phone with her. 

She couldn’t even contact her mother, unless– 

An idea popped into his head. “Jocelyn,” he began, getting her attention. “Do you have your mother’s phone number memorized?” 

“Well, yeah, but–” she started. 

“Do you think she’s awake right now?” 

She snorted. “Always. Remember, that woman doesn’t trust me. At all. She doesn’t sleep if she doesn’t know where I am.”  

Striding over to her, he offered her his phone. “Call her.” 

She glanced down at it and back up again, but didn’t take it. “Nooo. Bad idea,” she told hm. 

“It’s a bad idea to let her know you’re okay?” he checked, doubtful. 

“It’s a bad idea to give her _your_ phone number,” she corrected. 

Touché. 

Interjecting, Donny offered, “You could call her from _my_ phone.” 

“That’s…really not much better,” Jocelyn told him. “Look, just forget calling. She’s probably pacing around in my room anyway. Just get me home and I’ll…handle it from there.” 

Just saying the words seemed to exhaust her. More and more it was looking like mother and daughter just couldn’t live in harmony together. 

Raph replied, “How about you let _me_ handle it instead?”

Surprised, she met his gaze. “What? No,” she denied with a strangled chuckle. “Again, bad idea.” 

“I was the one who didn’t get you home on time,” he pointed out. 

“I was the one who fell asleep,” she countered. 

“How about you just let me take some responsibility–” he started, growing aggravated. 

Jocelyn interrupted, snapping, “How about we _not_ give my mother another reason to hate you?” 

“How about,” Leo cut in, “we get out of here _before_ we’re in open daylight and figure this out along the way?” 

They both sighed, forcibly letting go of the shared animosity. Then Raphael knelt down again, reaching for her, and she froze. 

“No,” she denied. 

Growing exasperated, he said, “Yes. Come on.” 

“I don’t wanna,” she said with a shake of her head. 

“You have a better idea?” 

She hooked a thumb at the trap door. 

“It’s locked,” he told her. 

She gave him a blank look. “I’m 96% sure you could just rip it off, regardless of how it’s locked.” 

“This is faster.” 

“That’s what scares me.” 

“Just come here,” he said, irritated. “Come on, babe. Trust me.” 

She paused then, tilting her head at him. “When’d you start calling me ‘babe’?” 

“Today. Just now,” he answered. When she still made no move to get closer, he huffed. “I thought you said you trusted me?” 

Shock went across her face, and then she glowered. “You little…ugh!” she grunted, tossing her head back. “Fine!” Though she was obviously still reluctant, she crossed over to him, muttering, “But if you drop me and I die I’m gonna kill you.” 

He knew she was speaking out of nerves. Too bad they didn’t have enough time for him to soothe her. Instead, once she got close, he swept her up in his arms. 

She _squeaked,_ the single most adorable sound he’d ever heard from her, then blurted, “What are you doing?!” 

“We don’t have time for the slow way down,” he informed her. 

“There’s always time for the slow way down!” she snapped. 

He dipped his head, holding her gaze. “Trust me,” he told her firmly. 

She whimpered, but shut up and just looped her arms around his neck. Curling up tight, nearly vibrating from fear, she shut her eyes and held on. 

Shaking his head, Raph gave his brothers a look that said _go on ahead_. Gesturing each other, they headed off. Donny tossed Mikey over the fence; Mikey in turn hauled him up by the arm. Leo jumped on the railing, then reached down. Raph clasped his hand, then jumped; Leo used the momentum to toss him over the fence. 

Jocelyn gave a sharp, squealing gasp, clinging all the tighter. But it was too late to stop now. He was already arcing into a free-fall. She shoved her face into his neck; he secured his grip around her. 

Now that they were descending, he suddenly recalled that Jocelyn was wearing a dress. And thanks to some of their playful antics over the course of the date, he was painfully aware that she was wearing a thin, black thong. With the wind tossing her flimsy clothes about, there was no way his brothers _weren’t_ going to notice. 

He made sure to hold her in a way that pinned her tiny dress to her ass. 

Trying to keep his girlfriend from fainting meant he didn’t twist or flip if he could help it. Other than a few teamwork moves to keep their combined falls from being too fast or out of control, Raphael kept steady. Their fall took them to a nearby roof, but where the others rolled with the impact, Raph took a hard landing on his feet. Pain shot through him, though he brushed it off. He’d suffered way worse. 

Now that the falling part was over, he looked her over. Her eyes were wide and she looked a little pale, but otherwise she seemed alright. Not bad for her first 20-story free-fall. 

“Not one for skydiving, either?” he teased. 

Instantly angry, she slapped his chest and shoved out of his grasp. She stumbled a little as she got to her feet, though, her legs clearly weak. 

She snapped, “You should count your blessings I didn’t piss on you!” 

He couldn’t help laughing at that, and neither could Mikey; the youngest turned away as he cackled. Raph’s little plan had worked: making her angry had overridden her fear. She might be pissed with him for a while yet, but the joke had done its job. 

Standing upright, he offered Jocelyn a hand. “Hard part’s over,” he told her. “Now to get you home.” 

She gave him a withering glare. “You’re gonna take me through the sewers, aren’t you?” 

He nodded. “It’s the quickest way.” 

Muttering to herself, he heard the words “fuck quick” and “got myself into”. But she came back to him and let him pick her up again. 

* * *

By the time Jocelyn got home, she was shaky and wet. Raphael had taken the “fast way” through the sewers, which she’d expected: sliding through the pipes on his shell while hugging her to him. Water had kicked up from every little move and eventually left her with a damp sheen all over. 

To her surprise, neither he nor his brothers split up. Though she kept trying to convince all of them to let her deal with her mother by herself, they staunchly refused. All five of them climbed up her fire escape to reach her window, a last-ditch effort on her part to sneak in. 

By now daylight was shining, though luckily it was on the other side of her building. It was almost six when she climbed through her window and saw the time displayed on her bedside clock. 

She stopped dead almost immediately, able to _feel_ that something was off. Her eyes scanned every little crevice, looking for what was out of place, as Raphael climbed in behind her. 

“I smell smoke,” he said, sounding confused and mildly alarmed. 

So did she, now that she was thinking about it. She gave her beau a glance before striding to the bathroom. There, in the sink, was a pile of ash and curled, burnt brown threads. Two tiny plastic eyes gazed up from the remains of what had once been a stuffed animal. 

_Ferdinand._

Huffing, she strode into her room again and scanned her stuffed animals. Sure enough, her brown bear Ferdinand was missing from the clutch. She growled, pissed off even though she’d known this was likely to happen. 

The brothers were all in here by now, and Raphael had already checked the bathroom. 

He asked, “Was that one of your toys?” 

“Ferdinand,” she sighed. “He was a birthday gift from Cassie when I was eight. She picked him special to remind me of Dad.” He even bore her father’s middle name to strengthen the connection. 

The guys shared a look. Leo ventured, “How did it…?”

“It’s a thing Mom does when she’s angry with me,” Jo spat, standing up and heading for her door. She swung it open and scanned the living room, calling, _“Mom!”_

Not seeing her there, she headed for her mother’s room. Usually she knocked; today she was too pissed off. She shoved the door open, stalking in. The bathroom light was on, so she headed there. 

Cecilia was in the middle of applying makeup when Jocelyn entered the doorway, already dressed for work though she didn’t need to be ready for another hour and a half. And she couldn’t help it; when Cecilia turned to regard her, equally angry, Jocelyn started smacking at her. 

“What is _wrong_ with you?!” she demanded. 

Her mother smacked back, snapping, “Where were you?!” 

“You killed Ferdinand!” Jo yelled. “You _know_ how much I loved him!” 

“More than you love your own mother?!” 

“Don’t you _dare_ make this about you–!” 

An arm looped around her waist, pulling her back; she fought it, struggling even when she was lifted too high for her feet to touch the ground. Spearing her lover with a glare, she warned, “You better put me the fuck down.” 

Cecilia visibly recoiled, then charged ahead, her rage shifting from Jo to Raphael. Unleashing her five-two fury, she started slapping at _him_ instead, shouting, “ _You!_ You get your filthy mutant hands off my daughter!” 

The barrage failed to faze him; he didn’t even try to block the blows or stop Cecilia. It wasn’t like she could hurt him, anyway. He did, however, deflect any slaps that went Jocelyn’s way. 

Trying to get around him, Jo made wild swings at her mother in return. “Don’t you talk to him like that!” 

“I’ll talk to anyone however I please–!” 

“Alright, everyone chill!” he snapped at them both. Trying to keep mother and daughter from hitting each other was clearly aggravating him. 

Cecilia gasped – hard. “How _dare_ you try to order me, you beast!” 

Her rage only growing worse from hearing such things, Jo made a kick and hit Cecilia in the hip; the older woman yelped. As her mother recoiled, gasping and holding her middle, Jocelyn shouted, “Try calling him a beast again, I fuckin’ dare ya!” 

The commotion lured the rest of the turtles closer, though they stayed out of the bedroom. Crowding in the doorway, they tried to calm things down as best they could. 

“Whoa, whoa,” Leo began, “let’s all just take a breath and think–” 

As he spoke, Cecilia noticed him, her shock growing worse. Turning a burning glare to Jocelyn, she snapped, “You brought _all_ of them into my house?!” 

“Guys–” Mikey started, making calming gestures with his hands. 

“ _Your_ house?!” Jo shot back. Still struggling to get free of Raphael’s hold, she spat, “ _I’m_ the one who cleans up and organizes and keeps shit together! All _you_ do is watch TV and complain!” 

“Jocelyn–” Raphael tried to interject. 

“ _I_ pay for it!” Cecilia shouted over him. 

“Well la-di-fuckin’-da!” Jo mocked. “Congrats, you do exactly the bare minimum–” 

Changing the subject, Cecilia spoke over her, “Where were you all night?!” 

“On an adventure,” Jocelyn retorted, sarcastic. 

“Don’t you take that tone with me! And _you,”_ Cecilia added towards Raphael, “you release my daughter this instant! You’re not to touch her in my presence!” 

His eyes narrowed. Then, shrugging, he let Jocelyn back on her feet. 

For a moment she stared at the ground, sorting through her emotions and controlling her impulses. Anger, hurt, disbelief, confusion, sorrow…she was awash in negativity. After the incredible time she’d had last night, she felt it all the more clearly. 

It was like going from a hot, relaxing bath to being dunked in boiling acid. It made her eyes sting from mixed rage and pain. 

When Jocelyn looked up a few moments later, everyone still utterly silent, a kind of embarrassment began taking hold. Fighting with her mother, in front of her boyfriend and his brothers…

Why was their relationship so god damned broken? A part of her found herself blaming her father – if he hadn’t died, if he hadn’t _left them_ , well…he could’ve kept her family in one piece. And not only would Cecilia and Jocelyn have a better relationship, but they’d also have Antony. A family of four: mother, father, daughter and son…

Maybe a happy family was too much to wish for, but it was what she wanted. 

Meeting her mother’s gaze, she saw Cecilia slowly calming as well. Several more seconds passed without comment, and then Jocelyn undid the clasp of her belt. Pulling it off, she shoved it into her mother’s hands. 

“Here’s your belt back,” she said. Leaning in just a bit, she added, voice tight, “You’ll notice that despite how pissed off I am, I didn’t destroy it.” 

For a moment they held gazes: brown and green, mother and daughter. There was a misty shine to both pairs of eyes. With her heels on, Jo towered over her mother, and she knew the older woman was seeing that all too clearly. 

And then Cecilia slapped her. 

Jocelyn allowed the hit, shoving the stinging pain aside. The slap didn’t matter, anyway; her heart hurt way worse than her cheek did. And she didn’t have to look to know Raphael was struggling not to act right then. 

If he had impulses to murder just because a guy wanted sexual favors from her, then he would definitely have similar impulses right now. 

When Jo met her mother’s gaze, unfazed, Cecilia slapped her again – harder than before. It made her eyes burn and sting, made her flinch. But when she saw her mother’s brown eyes swimming in tears, fighting to hold them back, all she could think was _let it go_. 

So she straightened her back, lifted her head, and took the high road. As much as she wanted to hit her mother back, she knew she could never do it. Instead, she gave her mother a little, gentle kiss on the forehead. 

Cecilia sucked in a shuddering breath. 

Without another word, Jocelyn strode from the room; the turtles moved aside and hugged the walls to let her pass. She pulled off her red outer dress as she made her way to her room, hearing Raphael’s heavy footfalls as he trailed after her. 

Cecilia’s voice echoed in the halls, laced with pain and anger: “I want all of you out of my home this instant!” 

Jo didn’t bother responding to that one. They had to go home, anyway. It was dawn. Aside from which, she didn’t expect they’d want to hang around any longer than they had to. This fight had been intense and painful and awkward. 

But while it did sound like the brothers were leaving, she noticed Raphael didn’t. She sat down on her bed to remove her boots, her red dress simply dropped on the floor; only her slightly smaller black dress and thong remained now. One by one the guys said goodbye to her and slipped out of her window. 

Raphael just shut her bedroom and bathroom doors, locking them, and shut the curtains and blinds to her window. Then he knelt down in front of her. 

She had one boot off by then and was working on the other. When he reached up to brush her hair back from her face and stroke her cheek, radiating concern, she ached to cry. It felt like she might burst at any second. 

“D’you need me to stay?” he asked. 

Taking a steadying breath, she answered, “No. You should go home and get some sleep.” 

With a strained smile, he replied, “How’m I supposed to sleep with you like this?” 

She gave him a matching smile. Hurt and comfort mixed in her heart, making her fingers halt their task. She wanted to throw herself in his arms and let him handle everything – the pain, the distress, the conflict; all of it. 

But she couldn’t burden him even _more_. 

“S’alright,” she told him. “I’ll just go see Cassie.” 

Cassie, short for Cassandra, a dancer like Jocelyn and best friend extraordinaire. They’d met when they were five, at their dance school. Cassie had already been dancing there for two months and immediately became Jo’s self-appointed personal instructor. Since then they’d been inseparable; when she wasn’t at home or at school (or, more lately, with Raphael), she was with Cassie. 

They were together so often the other dancers had taken to calling them C-J. 

They knew everything about one another (except for Raphael and his family’s existence, for obvious reasons); Cassie knew how to help Jocelyn vent about her mother and recover from their spats. 

Now Raphael looked…disappointed. It was a little baffling, to be honest. Did he _want_ to shoulder her burdens, to ease her aches, to mend her cuts? 

_Sweetheart…_

He could play the tough guy all he wanted, but she knew the truth: his heart was bigger than the entire city. He cared – for everyone and everything – far more deeply than he let on. His bullheaded anger, she thought, was just a defensive mechanism for him. It was how he protected the true depth of his heart from injury. 

Which was exactly why she wouldn’t add to the number of things that could hurt him. 

Reaching up to stroke his cheeks, she gave him a smile. “I’ll be fine. Cassie knows how to cheer me up.” 

He half-pouted, like he was trying not to but couldn’t quite help it. “I want that to be me,” he confessed. 

She grinned, unable to stop a weak laugh. _I love you,_ she thought, though the words still caught in her throat. She kissed him instead, giving a soft hum at the feel of his thick, warm lips. 

“Go home,” she pressed as she withdrew. “I’ll call you after I’ve chilled out.” 

Raphael was _clearly_ reluctant to go, going so far as to huff a sigh. Nodding, he pushed to his feet – and for a split second she noticed how close his crotch was to her face. A naughty impulse made her want to do something about that… 

And then he was heading for her window. Pausing once there, hesitant, he asked, “You sure?” 

He was adorable, she thought. Two nights ago he’d ached to escape after bruising her; today he didn’t want to leave her hurt and alone. It was making her think…he loved her, too. 

“I’m sure,” she murmured, somewhat in awe of her revelation. 

It wasn’t even a full minute after he left that her doorknob twisted, halted, and her mother’s voice came through: “Why is this door locked?!” 

Sighing, Jo went about getting new attire and washing the makeup off her face. Her mother was ranting, having tried the bathroom door as well to get in, by the time Jocelyn was dressed, her contacts were out, and she had collected her shoulder-bag and phone. 

She offered her mother nothing but silence as she strode out of the apartment and down to the bus stop. It was there that she called Cassie to let her know that she was coming over. And, she thought, maybe it was time to let Cassie in on the big secret…

After all, Jocelyn needed the support of her best-friend-slash-sister to get through this. It was better, then, for Cassie to know _everything_.


	27. Cassie

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing/sexual references)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Cassie was an adorable auburn-haired white girl, shorter than Jocelyn by a few inches but sporting bigger breasts and hips, pale yet totally devoid of any freckles. Had she had black hair instead they could’ve been polar opposites – except that she, too, also had green eyes. Her left eye, as well, had heterochromia; there were flecks of brown in it that her right eye didn’t have. 

Despite their visual differences, they’d always felt like sisters. When they were children they once theorized that they were separated at birth – not because of their looks, but because of their interests and skills. They’d put a lot of thought into it, then crammed their parents together in one place to demand “the truth”. 

Though the two of them had been absolutely serious about it, their parents had all but been rolling with laughter. To this day Cassie’s father still teased her about that. 

Now, as Cassie answered the door and let Jocelyn into their little two-story house, no words were needed. The two girls embraced, Jocelyn hunching just a bit like she always did with Cassie. In was unconscious on her part; a piece of her never wanted Cassie to feel small or intimidated by Jo’s greater height. 

Once in Cassie’s room – a little messier than her own but almost identical in decor and paraphernalia – Jo immediately took a seat, her eyes wet now that she was in the company of her best friend. 

Cassie sat beside her, taking her hand. “You okay?” she ventured, concerned. “What happened?” She was still visibly lethargic from having been woken up at 6 a.m., but soldiering on for Jo’s sake. 

“Mom killed Ferdinand,” Jo answered, fighting off tears. “We fought, she insulted my boyfriend, she slapped me…twice…” 

Cassie brushed her hair back, then hugged her tight. Jo could tell she was off-balance right then – until very recently, Jocelyn never cried. In fact Jo had held _Cassie_ while she cried many a time, but never had the reverse been needed. 

Until now.

For the sake of Cassie’s parents getting ample rest, Jo tried to keep the tears at bay. When that failed, she opted to remain as quiet as she could, the moisture in her eyes overflowing now that she had Cassie here with her. 

A part of her still felt bad for sending Raphael away when he clearly wanted to help her, but this was better for her. Cassie knew Cecilia, knew Jo’s troubles, and could support her in ways Raphael just couldn’t. 

At least not _yet._

For a little while Jo kept a hand over her mouth to muffle any escaped cries, face in Cassie’s shoulder as her best friend held her and stroked her back. Luckily it didn’t take long for that to taper off, and then the two of them laid back on Cassie’s bed, looking up at the ceiling. 

Glow-in-the-dark stars were stuck to that ceiling, and had been for all of Cassie’s life. It was amazing the adhesive managed to last this long, to be honest. 

They used to lay like this and make up stories about the fake constellations when they were little… 

“Sorry for crying on you,” Jo whispered, feeling guilty about it. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. 

Cassie gave a little chuckle. “It’s okay. I’m just surprised you cried at all.” 

“Yeah…me too,” Jo admitted. 

“…I’m sorry your mom is like this,” Cassie added after a moment. 

Holding her hand tighter, Jo said, “…Me, too.” 

“She didn’t used to be,” the redhead commented, thoughtful. 

“Not when Dad was still here,” Jo agreed. 

“What changed?” 

“Stress?” 

“She needs a vacay.” 

“GoFundMe to raise ten grand and send her to Bermuda,” Jo commented dryly. 

Cassie snorted. “Kickstarter to raise a hundred grand and build a jail there special for her.” 

Jocelyn, laughing, added, “Petition.org to rescind her citizenship so she can’t come back.” 

“It’s a plan. Let’s get started!” Cassie said, getting up to go sit at her computer desk. 

Already Jo felt much better. Her eyelashes were still wet but she was laughing. Sitting up, herself, she pinned a look on Cassie. 

A look that said _I’ve got something big to say._

At once, Cassie turned serious. Rolling over in her desk chair, she leaned in. “Dish,” she demanded. 

Jo bit her lip, hesitating, before venturing, “So, you know…my boyfriend?” 

“The mysterious one I keep doubting because you won’t describe him, tell me his name, or show me any pics of him?” 

“That’d be the one.” 

“What of him?”

Another hesitant second passed, Jocelyn glancing at the door to double-check that it was closed. Then, leaning in closer, she began, “You promise, right now, you won’t tell _anyone_ _anything_.” 

Cassie’s brows hiked up. “Is this contract legal and binding?” 

“The legal-est and binding-est.” 

“Do I need to swear a blood oath?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Done. Lemme get a knife.” 

When she went to wheel away, Jocelyn caught the arm of the chair. “I’ll take your word for it. Now come here.” 

Intrigued, Cassie scooted closer, leaning in. Her eyes were curious, but still a smidge doubtful. 

“This is gonna sound crazy,” Jo began, voice as low as she could make it, “but I swear it’s all true. The reason I haven’t been telling you all about him is because…he isn’t…human.” 

For a moment, Cassie didn’t react. It took a few seconds, and then her brows drew together and she leaned back. “Are…are you serious?” she asked. 

Nodding, Jo told her, “I’m serious.” Pulling Cassie back in by the arm, she went on, “Mom knows. She met him. That’s why she’s so opposed to him.” 

“Okay,” Cassie began, attempting to roll with this information. “So…he’s not human. Then what is he? An alien?” Her eyes lit up. “Did he take you to outer space?” 

Jocelyn snorted, chuckling. “N-no. Nothing like that. He’s, uh…of this planet,” she explained. Biting her lip, she paused, wondering how much was safe to tell. Then, picking her words carefully, she went on, “His…existence…is a big secret. The fewer people who know, the better. The NYPD know about them, but if the government found out, they’d get captured and get turned into experiments. Which is why you can’t tell anyone!” she stressed. 

Giving slow nods, Cassie took it in. And then she asked, “Were you saying ‘them’ and ‘they’?” 

Oh. Shit. 

“Oops,” Jocelyn answered. “Okay, so, yeah, there’s more than one…of…him,” she allowed. “I…didn’t mean to tell you all that.” 

Cassie took a deep breath, processing this information. Then she ventured, “You’re not, ya know, pulling my leg? This is all true?” 

“All true,” Jo agreed, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t lie to you, you know that.” 

Wetting her lips and nodding, Cassie hummed an agreement. “Okay. Non-human, but…Earthly?” she checked. 

Jo nodded. 

“So, how did you…uh…” 

“…meet him?” Jo finished for her. When Cassie nodded, she took a breath, sorting her thoughts, and began. 

“Well, I was dancing on the roof, like always…except…” 

Keeping her voice quiet and steady was a feat unto itself, considering how deeply Jocelyn felt for Raphael and how many emotions she went through just speaking of him. But, eventually, she got the story out – leaving out the unimportant details and anything that could give away exactly what Raphael was and how he and his brothers came to be. 

Instead, she outlined how often they were together, how he made her feel, the devotion he showed her. And, finally, she talked about their date, the wonderful, unbelievable night he’d provided for her, and how it all came crashing down that morning. 

“…then I came here,” Jocelyn finished her tale. By now she was staring down at her crossed ankles, feeling emotionally drained after everything that had occurred in the last twelve hours. 

“Holy shit,” Cassie breathed, eyes wide. She looked fascinated, intrigued, overwhelmed. Then, after a moment, she added, “I seriously doubt you could invent a story like that, but it’s…there’s so… _much_ …it’s hard to believe!” she declared. 

“Shh,” Jocelyn hushed her. Standing up, she said, “Oh, so you need more proof, huh?” Maybe just a little bit cocky, she unzipped her pants to pull them down enough to reveal her hips. “He gave me these just two nights ago,” she told Cassie firmly. 

Purple blotches, yellow at the edges, formed two handprints on her bronze skin. Two thumbs on the front, four fingers in the back, emphasizing his three-fingered hands. They were so big they almost fully ringed her hips. 

Cassie stuttered out a series of syllables, then got up to examine Jo’s skin more closely. She lifted her hand to compare the size of the bruises, shocked. 

“Holy shit,” she repeated, “holy shit, holy shit…that’s…” 

“Twice the size of a human’s hands,” Jo finished for her, smug. 

Concerned yet fascinated, Cassie looked up. “But…why? Why did he…?” 

Blushing a little, Jocelyn confessed, “We were fooling around, and…well, he’s _super_ strong. It was an accident.” 

“Does it hurt?” Cassie asked, worried. 

“Not really. It’s fine,” the blonde told her. “It was, uh…it was fuckin’ great,” she admitted, grinning wide. “He’s so good, and sexy, and…” She cut herself off, biting her lip, envisioning Raphael. Unable to hold the words back, she blurted, “I’m totally in love with him!” 

Covering her mouth with both hands, Cassie squealed, excited for her. “Oh my gosh! Jo!” Then, suspicious, she demanded, “Was he the one who gave you that hickey, too?”

Jocelyn grinned in answer. 

“Oh, my god,” Cassie shrieked, bouncing on her toes. “This is so amazing! Oh, oh man, I gotta meet him, I wanna meet him!” she begged, grasping Jocelyn’s arm. 

Zipping her pants back up, Jo shook her head. “I can extend the offer, but like I said…the fewer who know…” 

“…the better,” Cassie sighed, disappointed. “Well, then, maybe I should just throw myself off your roof, too.” 

Knowing she was just joking, Jocelyn chuckled. “It won’t work unless he’s there, you know.” 

“ _You’ll_ know when he’s there,” Cassie pointed out. 

“True.” 

A moment of silence passed, the two girls looking at one another. But when Jo noticed Cassandra looked expectant, she demanded, “What?”

Giving an exaggerated wink, Cassie explained, “You’ll let me know when he’s over, right?” Wink. Wink, wink. _Wink._

“Dork,” Jo chided with a laugh, nudging Cassie. 

“Oh, come on.” 

“No.” 

“But it won’t be your fault if I run into him, right?” the redhead pressed. 

“Fiiiiine,” Jo sighed. “But don’t expect much. He might escape before you show up.” 

“Aww,” Cassie whined. 

“Sorry, but he’s, uh… _really_ sneaky.” 

Cassie pouted. In response, Jo shoved her shoulder. Cassie shoved her back, and soon they were play-fighting, using Cassie’s pillows as weapons, giggling all the while. It was exactly the kind of fun she needed right then. 

Now that they were both fully awake, Jocelyn went ahead and decided to make breakfast for Cassie and her family. They joked and teased each other as she cooked, Cassie every so often lending a hand. Right about when most of it was done, Benjamin came in – one of Cassie’s two younger brothers. 

Where she was auburn-haired, he was a vibrant redhead speckled with freckles. Their mother sported reddish-brown locks, but their father had heavy Irish heritage, and the two sons showed it. Benjamin and his nine-year-old brother Connor both sported fiery red hair and brown eyes. 

He’d had a crush on Jo just about his whole life. He’d been a toddler when the girls met, and he’d blushed and stuttered in her presence from the first day. Now a teen, it’d gotten all the worse. Poor kid’s hormones were all kinds of imbalanced. 

Trying to play it cool (despite the obvious hitch to his step when he spotted her), the fourteen-year-old redhead slipped into a seat, not even saying “hello” to her. 

A part of Jocelyn had always enjoyed teasing him – in little ways. Things like giving him a wink to make him blush, or giving him a hard time when he had to apologize for something. Lately, however, she’d eased up on him, largely thanks to the serious relationship she had with Raphael. So when he didn’t greet her, she didn’t greet him, either. 

Cassie, on the other hand, fluffed his messy red hair. “Morning, Benji.” 

He slapped at her hand. “Whatever,” was his only response. 

The girls rolled their eyes at each other, conveniently forgetting their own moody teen years. 

Soon Connor joined the three, and then their parents: Jackie and Max. They were surprised to see Jocelyn here but pleased that she’d made breakfast. 

“Here before we were even up?” Jackie asked, suspicious. “It’s nice to see you, Jocelyn, but is everything okay?” 

Shrugging, Jo answered, “Just didn’t wanna be home right now.” 

The older woman nodded, accepting that. “Well, as always, you can stay as long as you like.” As she said this, she pet Jocelyn’s blonde curls. 

It made Jo smile. 

Cassie’s parents were both fully aware of how harsh and unreasonable Cecilia could be – but while they didn’t always _disagree_ with her, they _were_ always happy to have Jocelyn around. She was practically a part of their family. 

Yet, as much as she loved them and their idyllic life here in their two-story house and comfortable family of five, her mind kept returning to Raphael. A part of her wanted to leave and go to him, to spend the day in his warm arms and ironically beautiful sewer home. 

She was sure he would welcome her, but, honestly…she worried. She worried that she was spending _too much_ time with him, in his home, distracting him. That she was distracting his whole family, their routines, their balance. The last thing she wanted was to be the reason they failed some task or another – especially something potentially life-threatening. 

No. She had to give them all space away from her. Raphael might miss her – god knew she missed him, too – but it was for the best. 

She hoped. 

* * *

Raphael had a hard time falling asleep – not just because of his nap earlier, but because of Jocelyn. The sight of her, tears in her eyes and redness to her cheek, had wrenched at his heart. He’d wanted to slam Cecilia’s head into the wall. 

For a moment, he’d almost believed that Jocelyn did, too. But instead of reacting to her mother’s abuse with anger, she’d offered forgiveness. And it’d hit Cecilia harder than a blow would have. She’d walked away too soon to see it, but that kiss she’d given Cecilia had wrecked the older woman. 

Tears had eked out, and it’d only seemed to aggravate and shame her. 

Had she been crying for any other reason, Raph might have tried to comfort her. After all, this was his girlfriend’s mother – without her, Jocelyn wouldn’t exist. That, alone, was reason enough to appreciate her, to show her gratitude. It was reason enough for Raphael to extend his protection to her. 

And reason enough to ease her pain, if he could. 

Today, however…he felt she deserved no such comfort. He saw how much that spat had hurt Jocelyn. After causing all that, Cecilia had earned her punishment. 

Now, as Raph laid on his bed and thought about this, he decided he had to find some way to fix their relationship. Mother and daughter – they should have an impenetrable bond. Instead, they had anger and pain. 

They loved one another, yes, but they also hurt each other so often… 

Admittedly he wasn’t very skilled in such things. He knew how to start a fight, not how to end them. He could sew animosity like a pro – he just didn’t know how to ease it. At this point his best bet would be to ask his brothers for advice. Sure, it’d be embarrassing, but their vastly different personalities could help. 

_One_ of them should be able to get through to Cecilia. Raphael, meanwhile, would definitely be able to get through to Jocelyn. She’d helped him with some of his issues; he’d help her with hers. Logically, if he was willing to listen, so should she. 

But first… 

After he woke up some hours later, he sought out Donny, handing over the ID he’d “acquired”. No words were needed; the four of them did this often, and Donny would just enter the information into his computer to bring up permanent records. 

What they found on Alejandro: no indictments, but he’d been arrested several times for disturbing the peace, public drunkenness, resisting arrest, and solicitation of prostitution. Each one was so flimsy and harmless that he just ended up staying a day or two in jail and then got out again. 

Donny was visibly confused, seeing this. “What’s with this Alejandro guy?” he asked Raph. 

“He solicited Jocelyn in the subway,” Raphael answered, voice tight just from remembering it. “Jus’ wanted to make sure he wasn’t more of a threat than he seemed.” 

“Well, he couldn’t be much _less_ of a threat,” Donny mused. 

Raphael stood there for several quiet moments, reading over the list, pondering what he could – and should – do next. Soon Leo’s voice drifted over to them. 

“Planning on doing something to him?” the eldest demanded. 

“Nothin’ _too_ bad, don’t worry yer pretty head,” Raph absently commented. 

While Donatello snorted, Leo sighed. “Watch yourself,” he warned. 

That brought Raph’s gaze swinging around to his elder brother. _“Me?”_ he checked. _He_ wasn’t the one going around soliciting women and then ignoring their right to say ‘no’! 

“I’m just saying,” Leo replied, hands lifted in defense, “your reactions to Jocelyn are still _really_ strong. Make sure you don’t dish out more than _he_ deserves.” 

That…was fair, Raphael admitted with difficulty. Justice, by definition, was blind – meaning it needed to be given without emotional ties involved. Yet, when Jocelyn was at the center of his decisions, emotion swayed him. _Hard_. How could he punish Alejandro in a way that fit his crimes without Raphael going overboard to satisfy his violent impulses? 

The easy answer: just let Leonardo handle it. 

It was a tempting thought. But Raph had been the one to witness the shit’s behavior, the one to take the ID, the one to make it personal. It was his task; he should take care of it. 

Nodding to himself, he agreed, “Nothin’ more than he deserves.” It would be hard to withhold just how much aggression he felt when he so much as envisioned the turd’s face, but he believed he could control that. 

The silence that greeted his comment made him glance over. Leo was staring at Donny, brows high. Donny, on the other hand, looked awkward and uneasy. They both turned away when Raph noticed them. 

“What?” he demanded. 

To his surprise, Leo smiled. “Just thinking what a great influence Jo is for you,” he quipped. 

Scoffing, Raph shoved him (Leo allowed it, chuckling), then headed away from them. Once he got some breakfast in his belly (at nearly three in the afternoon, no less), he went to the weights room to get in a good workout. It’d been a while since he’d done his _whole_ routine; usually he only did parts and pieces, either because he planned on seeing Jocelyn soon or just because he was thinking about her. 

It was high past time he got his schedule back on track. After all, he’d never forgive himself if _Mikey_ broke his records. 

Besides, pushing his limits gave him a particular kind of high…not to mention he’d recently started really _seeing_ how much Jocelyn liked his build. Somehow her approval (and, yes, her arousal) made him feel all the better about himself, made him want to keep up his physique…and push himself just a bit further. 

_My average is seven hundred_ , he’d told her. As he pumped the weights, mentally counting each rep, he thought, _I wonder what her reaction will be when I make it seven-fifty?_

Imagining her comments made him grin. Maybe he should set up a reward system – for every fifty pounds he added, she owed him a favor. Win/win. 

By the time night fell he’d managed his whole routine, had even added five pounds to a few of the individual ones. Slow increases – lest he end up hurting himself. Jocelyn wouldn’t be happy if he injured himself, though he admitted she’d probably take _damn_ good care of him if he did. 

And should he be worried, considering how often he let her drive his decisions? _Probably_ , he answered himself, _but really, what is it hurting?_ Nothing and no one, to be honest. If anything, her influence – as Leo had stated – has been good for him. 

Not that he’d ever admit that aloud or even stand idly by when someone else said it. 

Now that he was pumped and the city was in shadows, he started to head out. The plan: find Alejandro and watch him, see what the turd was up to. 

Mikey joined him on the way out. 

“Hope you’re not plannin’ on comin’ along,” Raph quipped. 

“What if I am?” Mikey returned. 

Shrugging, Raph could only answer, “S’gonna be boring for you.” 

Tilting his head, Mikey asked, “Doing a stakeout, bro?” 

“Recon,” Raphael corrected. “Gonna watch a guy for a while.” 

“Cool, cool.” 

When Mikey didn’t seem deterred – a curious development, considering how easily he could get bored – Raph ventured, “Okay, what’s up?” 

“What’s up with what?” Mikey retorted, all innocence. Raphael speared him with a blank look; he sighed. “Look, I’m just…I wanna hang with you. That so weird?” 

For Mikey? Not really, Raph admitted. Shrugging, he replied, “Alright, whatever. Just try t’not annoy me _too_ much,” he commented dryly. 

Chuckling, Mikey offered, “No promises.” 

Raph couldn’t resist a little smirk. That was the spunky, annoying little brother he knew so well. Mikey had clearly struggled to get over his crush on Jocelyn – was still struggling to get over his crush on April despite her romantic relationship with Casey – but he _was_ getting over it. 

Raphael was proud of him. For how devastated Mikey had seemed, he was now showing his resilience. First April, then Jocelyn – the poor guy developed crushes rapidly and deeply, then sulked for _ages_ when it didn’t pan out. 

Honestly, Raph really wanted Mikey to find a girl, someone he could give all his affection to. Any girlfriend of his would undoubtedly get spoiled rotten. It would be the best thing that could possibly happen for Mikey – and if Raph could find someone, then Mikey could _definitely_ find someone. 

After all, one of them was brash, hardheaded, clumsy and blunt – the other was sweet and affectionate to a fault. 

He’d find his; Raphael was sure of it. 

For now, though, the pair headed out, Raph leading the charge to Alejandro’s place. It took a while – with some help from Donny and his blueprints – to find which window in the building belonged to the human, and then the two of them settled in to watch. 

…In a word, it was boring. The windows in question, a whole two of them, bore old, tattered drapes, betraying either a lack of care or household funds, and took over an hour of waiting before lights came on.  

By that point Raphael was strongly contemplating his phone, wondering if he should call Jocelyn or not, while Mikey was droning on and on about the differences between Linkin Park and Limp Bizkit. It flowed in one ear-hole and out the other for Raph. 

Not that he didn’t like the bands at all, but rather that he honestly didn’t give a fuck about what made them “special” and “unique”. 

Then, when the apartment in question lit up, Raph hushed him, watching from a distance. Shadows moved behind the curtains for a while, and then a wary face hesitantly peeked out between them. 

He could have laughed. Alejandro was clearly terrified and paranoid – as well he should be! – but his precautions were pointless. Without sunlight, Mikey and Raph were invisible in their hiding places. 

“So what’d this guy do?” Mikey asked him. 

For a moment, Raph was blown away that they’d been here for so long and Mikey only just now asked that. Still, he answered, “He tried to get Jocelyn to suck him off.” 

Wincing, Mikey commented, “Ohh, that was dumb.” 

That even _Michelangelo_ recognized this showed just how stupid it was for the human to have tried it. 

“Did’ja break anything of his?” 

“Not yet,” Raph replied. 

“I call dibs on any weapons he tries to bring out.” 

“Deal.” 

Alejandro spent a few hours in his apartment before heading out again. And, quiet as a pair of mice (with cymbals strapped to their feet every few steps), the terrapin brothers followed him…


	28. Family

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing/sexual references)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Once upon a time, Jocelyn had told Raphael that she “got down to the bones” of every issue.

Evidently she didn’t include herself or her mother with this rule.

When he called her later that evening, she hadn’t gone home yet. “Let Mom cook her own damn dinner for once,” she spat.

Concerned, he asked, “Then you’re still at Cassie’s?” It was past ten!

“Yeah.”

Well, then, that canceled his idea to hang out for a little while. He’d wanted to check in on her – face-to-face – and make sure she was alright. So much for that, he guessed.

For a while they filled in one another on their days. Jocelyn had gone out with Cassie in the afternoon, store-hopping in a mall. They’d each made a few little purchases, just little knickknacks and souvenirs bought for their mild amusement value.

Jocelyn got a keychain that read “How do you keep an idiot busy for hours? (Turn this keychain over.)” on both sides. Cassie’s youngest brother apparently fell for it and twisted it over three times, confused, before getting it.

Raphael, on the other hand, informed her that he and Mikey had tailed Alejandro. He didn’t do anything illegal (or morally bankrupt) in that time, which was a point in his favor. Then the turtles beat him home, snuck in through his window, and introduced themselves proper to the turd.

He’d _screamed_ upon seeing there were more than one of them.

Trying to keep things civil (for the most part), Raph gave him back his license, then promised to return – “soon”. A lie. He wasn’t planning on checking in on the human for a long while. Donny’s alarm system could easily alert them if Alejandro’s name entered police databanks again.

Then, and only then, would Raph bother to come back. Watching him had revealed just how much of a wuss Alejandro was; he was a poser, pretending to be cooler and badder than he was. Raph had seen it before: he was an inner coward/outer badass, and someday that was going to come crashing down.

Funny enough, though, Alejandro _had_ tried to protect himself when the guys confronted him. He’d pulled out a knife. Thanks to their deal, Mikey now owned it.

All Alejandro had received from the show was a nasty swollen lip and black eye. Hopefully he’d learned his lesson, especially since the turtles just shrugged it off and left him without further altercation. Undoubtedly the guy had probably believed he was about to get murdered.

The fact that he still lived ought to give him a new perspective.

Leo had been proud of Raph’s restraint, complimenting him in dramatic, over-the-top ways – and the praise made Raphael roll his eyes so hard it’d hurt. Jocelyn laughed when he told her that.

Then, in the background, he heard another voice: “Oh, oh my god, is that _him?_ Lemme talk!”

Cassie, he guessed.

He listened, amused, as a struggle broke out between the girls. They were laughing and shrieking, a lot of clatter audible as the phone was clawed at and fumbled and, finally, dropped.

Chuckling, Raph said, “Talk to you later,” and hung up.

Just before the line died, he caught a final comment.

“Was that his _voice?!_ Jelly!”

It made him grin. Not only was that _heavily_ flattering – his girlfriend’s best friend liked his voice? His pride swelled to new size – but he just got his first bit of insight to Jocelyn’s “girly” side. Honest to god, she was too adorable for him. It sounded like they’d been wrestling for the phone, laughing all the while, clearly enjoying themselves.

Until now she’d never really shown that side of her. He wouldn’t have even guessed she could behave like that, based on what interactions _they’d_ had. Despite her dancing and her gushing over ballet, she’d only ever really shown him her passion and lust and teasing.

Yet, just now he’d clearly heard her _squeal_.

_Too precious._

Weirdly, though, knowing she had that side to her gave him juxtaposed desires: one part of him wanted to pin her down and tickle her; another wanted to pin her down and delve his head between her legs. Maybe he could try doing both at once, see how she reacted to that…

As his humor faded, though, his concerns rose once more. How could he help mend Jocelyn and Cecilia’s relationship? He wasn’t sure it was possible, but he wanted to at least try – a part of him felt he _had_ to. After all, Jocelyn had inadvertently torn him and Leo apart, and she’d then done what she could to fix it.

In an exact parallel, Raph’s presence had torn mother and daughter apart as well. It’d been his hard-headed choice, ignoring Jocelyn’s concerns, which had revealed him to Cecilia. He’d thought it would be good for all three of them.

He couldn’t have been more wrong. All he’d done was force them further apart.

Maybe he wasn’t a fixer. Maybe it was an impossible endeavor. But that didn’t mean he shouldn’t try, that it wasn’t worth the effort. The only question remaining was how to begin.

He’d need advice.

* * *

Jocelyn only stayed with Cassie for one night. She’d been waiting for an olive branch before going home, and the next morning she received it. A single text from her mother: _Come home. I miss you._

She was hesitant to go alone, though, and of course Cassie noticed. The redhead offered to come along, and Jo eagerly accepted. It would be a relief to have Cassie there with her.

A strange fear kept her hand from reaching for her front door when she got there, though – like a scared-she-was-going-to-find-her-mother-hanging-from-a-light-fixture kind of fear. Cassie took her hand, squeezing it, encouraging her to move forward.

It was almost eight in the morning. When the girls walked in, they found Cecilia attempting to cook.

Cecilia _never_ cooked. She was terrible at it; that was why Julian, then Jo, had always handled the meals. The two teens shared a shocked look, and then Jocelyn came forward.

“Mom?” she ventured.

Her mother glanced over, seeming honestly surprised. She must not have expected Jocelyn to actually come home.

With a strained grin, she said, “Help?”

Jocelyn looked at the pot in her hand and came over. It was a sauce pan – but inside were a pair of eggs. No butter or oil had been added. When Jo took the pan and tilted it, they didn’t slide. Stuck.

She laughed, but her amusement was tainted with sorrow. Her eyes grew wet even as she explained, “You don’t make eggs in a sauce pan, you make it in a skillet, and you have to oil it first…”

Honestly, she was touched. Cecilia was _trying_ – in a way she’d never done before. _Olive branch._

Jo waved Cassie off; she had this. The redhead wandered into the living room and sat down on the couch, flipping through the TV channels, while mother and daughter made breakfast.

Well, while mother attempted to make breakfast and daughter fixed everything, anyway.

Jocelyn gave little lessons as she went, the two of them wordlessly agreeing to hang the inevitable heart-to-heart until later. It was something of an achievement when Cecilia managed to flip over an egg without it ending up on the floor.

Mothering her mother, teaching a woman twice her age how to cook breakfast…

It would be funny if it weren’t a prelude to something bigger.

It was painfully awkward, but while they ate the eventual meal (Cassie moved to Jo’s room to mess around on her laptop), they talked. Jo asked about why her mother had been ready for work so early yesterday.

“I got called in an hour early to cover for Delilah having to call off,” Cecilia explained.

Delilah, a pretty blonde secretary who fit the “dumb blonde” stereotype a little too well. The two of them worked the same morning shift, handling calls and walk-ins. Cecilia just kept working later in the evening while Delilah’s shift started an hour earlier.

“She get sick?” Jo asked. She didn’t care; she was just making conversation.

Cecilia shook her head. “Faking sick, more likely,” she commented dryly.

The ‘talk’ continued in similar painfully bland ways, and as it went on Jo felt stronger and stronger impulses to arrange everything in sight. When it got to the point of madness, she decided enough was enough.

“…So why did you kill Ferdinand?” she demanded quietly.

Cecilia really should’ve known better. ‘Ferdinand’ had been her father’s middle name. It went without say that he was one of the most important and precious objects she owned.

Granted, in the end he was _just_ a toy. Her life wouldn’t end without him, and his existence was entirely sentimental. She didn’t need him.

She’d just loved that bear.

There was a long bout of silence, her mother looking down at her lap, before the older woman answered, “Wasn’t thinking.” After a moment she sighed. “…I’m sorry, love. I was so angry I just grabbed the first one I saw…”

Jocelyn had twenty-one stuffed animals in that pile – now twenty. Of all the ones Cecilia could have ‘seen first’, of all the ones bigger than Ferdinand had been, the ones that stood out more… Suffice to say she doubted her mother’s claim.

But at this point it barely mattered.

Her clutch wouldn’t be the same without him, especially not with the numbers off. She’d have to get a replacement. That aside, though, there was a deeper issue to fix here.

“…I want you to stop burning things,” Jo told her, firm.

Hesitant, Cecilia nodded, then confessed, “I can’t remember when or why I started…”

Jocelyn could – at least she recalled the first time it’d happened and what she’d lost. She’d been thirteen, and it was her favorite leotard – which, to her embarrassment, had been leopard-print. A leopard-print leotard.

Teenagers were dumb, she mused. Four years later and she was kind of glad it was gone.

Even now she didn’t know what she’d done to deserve it, though. Cecilia just kept saying _you know what you did_ and telling her to stop blocking the TV. She’d been drunk. Maybe that had been reason enough for the older woman.

Pressing harder, Jo demanded, “You’re going to stop?”

“Yeah, yeah I’ll stop,” Cecilia nodded. For a moment both women were silent, and then Cecilia ventured, “Will you tell me where you were now?”

Circling her plate with a finger, Jocelyn answered, “On a date with Raphael.”

Confused, her mother looked at her with creased brows. “A _date?”_ she echoed.

Jo chuckled. She’d had the same reaction. “Yeah. He took me to see a ballet, then out to dinner, then to a place where we could stargaze. I, uh…I fell asleep. That’s why I didn’t come home.”

At first she expected Cecilia to break into a rage and claim Jo was lying – instead, she saw her mother open and close her mouth, take a breath, and sigh.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay, I believe you.”

It didn’t _sound_ like Cecilia believed her, but Jo took the effort for what it was: a forceful rewiring of habits. In reply, Jo reached out and took her mother’s hand.

“That’s all I ever wanted,” she told Cecilia.

A lump had taken up residence in her throat. Honestly, Jo didn’t think they’d _ever_ had a heart-to-heart. Her father had died before it’d been needed, and his lack had torn them apart too far for them to fix it on their own. They’d never faced each other and spoke of their feelings.

Sure, they’d defended one another dozens of times and no matter how much Cecilia hurt her, she’d still stand between her mother and any and all threats…but loving someone and knowing them were two very different things.

It was about damn time they tried to talk and listen to one another.

Just as she started thinking of how much time they could spend on this endeavor, another thought came to mind.

“Hey, Mom,” she started, getting Cecilia’s attention. “Did you call off today?”

Cecilia’s eyes widened, resembling a deer in headlights. Then she spat, “Shit!” and got up, rushing to her room.

And Jo couldn’t help chuckling. This was the first time in memory Cecilia had failed to responsibly deal with work.

Leaving her to handle that, Jo went to get Cassie. “So,” she began, “Mom’s probably gonna run off to work now. Whatcha wanna do?”

Cassie gave it a moment of thought, then said, “Ya know, I’ve been thinking Denise and Charlotte–” ‘Charlotte’ being Cassie’s character in the play “–should have a dance together. Wanna try choreographing something, see if it works?”

“Sure,” Jo agreed with a nod. “You can borrow one of my leotards.”

“If I can fit my awesome rack in your skinny tops,” Cassie quipped.

Jo shoved her, chuckling. “Keep it up, smartie, and you’ll be dancing in your undies.”

“Pff, like it’ll matter,” Cassie returned.

“Whatever. Here,” Jo said, digging in her drawers and tossing a dark blue one at Cassie.

Her friend whined, looking at it. “Blue?” she scoffed. “It’ll clash with my hair!”

Jo just stuck her tongue out at her.

Once they were in the dance room and warmed up, they chatted about their moves, their goals, their characters. At one point they were doing [fouettes](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DEixtGKNP6ok&t=NjVkZTE0ZTc2YTdmMWU3NmJmYmJlOTk5ZTVkYTk0MDY1M2VkZDUyOSxqN215S2pLNQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F169744809179%2Fthe-dancer-part-26&m=0) and they traveled too far and smacked into each other; they laughed even as they tumbled over and nursed aching limbs.

Hours flew by, though little by little Jocelyn started noticing how often Cassie would look around instead of at their reflections. She kept glancing at the doors, the window, down the hall – obviously on alert for something.

Or some _one_.

It was past noon when they sat down on the floor and, taking a break, talked using hand motions about their dances. The next time Cassie glanced out into the hallway, Jo laughed.

“He’s not gonna just show up,” she told the redhead.

Not even bothering to deny it, Cassie just pouted. “I thought you said he comes around a lot?” she checked.

“Not during the _day_ ,” Jo corrected. “Well, not usually, anyway.” A moment of silence passed, and then she narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “Did you ask to do this because you wanted to meet him?”

At that, Cassie blushed, looking away. “A little from column A, a little from column B,” she admitted.

Tisking, Jocelyn nudged her with her foot.

“Sorry, I’m just…this is so interesting,” Cassie explained. “You’ve got me all intrigued and excited.”

“Well,” Jo sighed, “I can’t help with the intrigue, but I can fix the ‘excitement’ for you,” she said with a wink.

Cassie snorted. “We stopped ‘fixing’ each other’s excitement a long time ago,” she pointed out.

“Still willing to do a sister a favor,” Jocelyn told her. “I remember how you tick. Say the word and instant relief will be yours.”

“Stop,” Cassie laughed. “You’re not even lesbigay!”

Shrugging, Jo offered, “I don’t need to be gay to perform a favor or two.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Just now getting that?” she chuckled.

Cassie laughed, too, then reached over to grab her phone from where it sat near her. Tilting her head, Jo watched as Cassie messed around with it for a moment, landing on a YouTube playlist she’d made.

“Whatcha up to?” Jo asked.

Rob Zombie’s _Superbeast_ started playing. Grinning, Cassie said, “Just wondering if we can dance ballet to non-ballet songs.”

The idea was too bizarre and amusing _not_ to try. Laughing and clapping her hands, Jo got up and prepared herself.

This was going to be hilarious.

* * *

Maybe he was just being paranoid…or pathetic…but Raphael couldn’t help sneaking out. It wasn’t _quite_ sunset yet, meaning it wasn’t fully safe, but he was through waiting.

The day had been spent bouncing between his brothers and father, trying to figure out how to deal with Jocelyn and her mother. He’d also called April and, he admitted with difficulty, he’d said _way_ too much about Jocelyn in that conversation. But the talk had given him an idea, and his impulsive nature meant he had to do it – with a bit of April’s help.

She went out and bought a very specific object at his request. He stopped by her apartment first – she wasn’t there – and collected it, leaving exact change for reimbursement by the receipt it’d been sitting on.

Then he checked out and headed straight to Jocelyn’s. From a distance he could already tell she wasn’t on the roof, and he didn’t call ahead to let her know he was coming over. He didn’t even know if she would be there or not, but either way he planned on leaving his gift behind.

He could hear music playing from the dance room’s window, and that drew him over. Peeking between the drapes, he saw Jocelyn and another girl dancing and laughing in leotards. They were spinning, back-to-back with their arms outstretched and hands linked, half-laughing and half-singing with the song.

They looked exhausted, he saw. They were red-faced, out of breath, and covered in sweat. But they looked happy, even elated, and it got him grinning. Jocelyn was home and happy.

Maybe he didn’t need to intervene between her and her mother, after all.

The song ended and, panting, the redheaded girl – Cassie, he guessed – said, “Okay, your turn!”

“I’m tiiiirrrreeeed,” Jo complained, though she was chuckling as well.

“Oh, giving up, are you?” the other girl teased.

Scowling, Jo said, “Never!” and picked up her phone. She scrolled through it and selected another song.

Apparently they were competing somehow.

The song she picked next had his heart feeling funny. She sang along with the lyrics – such as she could while out of breath – and did some sexy, naughty dancing along with it. Cassie matched her move for move, giving him a guess as to what their competition was.

[ _So baby, come light me up and maybe I’ll let you on it_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YPo5NoiS4Qw)   
[ _A little bit dangerous, but baby, that’s how I want it_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YPo5NoiS4Qw)   
[ _A little less conversation, and a little more touch my body_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YPo5NoiS4Qw)   
[ _Cause I’m so into you, into you, into you_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YPo5NoiS4Qw)

That song was getting to him. It made him want to give her everything _she_ wanted – the lyrics suggested sex in very obvious ways – and it didn’t help that she was giving such damn sexy moves while it went on.

Before he knew it the song had ended and Cassie, almost totally breathless, commented, “Lemme guess…why you picked… _that_ one…”

Grinning, equally exhausted, Jo replied, “Hey…I can’t help it…if he turns me on.”

_Fuck!_

Raphael pulled away from the window, weirdly giddy and excited and grinning like a fool. Shit. _Shit._ It was so unfair, how she talked about him with her friend. It was giving him all kinds of impulses – mostly he wanted to jump in there, shove Jocelyn against the wall, and kiss her until she was begging him for more. That single damn comment of hers had given him such an intense desire to smother her in affection it was a wonder he was managing to resist it.

Sorting through his thoughts was hard work right then, but after shoving out his need to jump between the girls and kiss the _fuck_ out of Jocelyn, he decided to just leave his gift on the bed and leave.

Before he ended up embarrassing himself.

He snuck in through her window, placing a **[tiny stuffed turtle](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi5.walmartimages.com%2Fasr%2F1230634a-1225-41fe-8136-0c35320f9d37_1.ad370d9cb87e58b8154a0fd76043d2bd.jpeg&t=OWFmNDE4NTY4YmE1MzcwOTM5MGFjNzk4YWZlYmVlZTM3ZjkwYmU2MixqN215S2pLNQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F169744809179%2Fthe-dancer-part-26&m=0)** on her bed. It was a cheap thing, something April managed to find at a Wal-Mart, but he hoped it would help.

Namely because it occurred to him that everything in her room was in threes, and that would include her stuffed animals. It would irritate her if the pile was one off.

Then he heard all noise stop from the next room over and quickly ducked out of the window – but he stuck around for a moment to watch.

He thought he heard Jocelyn whisper something, and then both girls tried to sneakily enter her bedroom. The slippers made them _very_ quiet, but he’d already vanished.

Jocelyn glanced around, spotting his gift almost immediately and giving a squeal. “Oh, my god!” she caroled.

“What, what?” Cassie demanded.

“He was _just_ here,” Jo told her, picking up the toy. “Look!”

He grinned.

Cassie gasped, then cooed. “Oh, my god, that’s _so_ cute!”

“I _know!”_

Honestly, while Jo was cuddling the toy – his heart gave a sweet pulse, pleased that she liked it – Cassie looked more excited than _she_ did. Curious, he kept watching…

Stamping her foot, Cassie complained, “This is _so_ unfair, I wanna meet him!”

Oh, did she, then? That had him smirking.

Jocelyn rolled her eyes. “You got your damn stake-out and we missed him, just be happy we were even aware he was here at all.”

That intrigued him. Had Jocelyn told Cassie about him? He wondered how much the redhead knew.

“It’s not good enough,” Cassie pouted.

He was incredibly tempted to show himself right then. And, hell, he was having a hard time thinking of reasons why he shouldn’t – where Cecilia had freaked out, Cassie looked like she could handle it. But that was hardly a surprise, really; the brothers had quickly discovered that the younger a person was, the easier they accepted the turtles.

 _Fuck it_. He wanted to exchange affections with Jocelyn anyway. Might as well introduce himself so he could ignore Cassie entirely and focus on his girlfriend.

But he couldn’t help a mischievous desire to mess with them while he was at it, so he headed to the dance room instead. Silently entering, he found Cassie’s phone still on the floor and checked it. It was unlocked, so he scrolled through her open app – YouTube – and selected a song of his own. It was just on the recommended list, something random with a title that caught his eye.

As it started playing, he ducked into the hallway, leaving the phone right where he’d found it.

The girls were still talking, Jo trying to placate Cassie, when they heard the song. Immediately they ran through the bathroom to check on the sound, and Raphael took the opportunity to slide into Jocelyn’s room. Grinning to himself, he reclined on her bed – carefully, so the wood frame wouldn’t creak.

“Raphael!” he heard Jocelyn call, laughing. “Okay, now he’s fuckin’ with us,” she told Cassie.

He was so tempted to keep messing with them, but he expected it wouldn’t last much longer. The two of them would be able to converge on him eventually.

He relaxed, amused, just waiting for her to come back and find him. Then, reaching up, he flipped the light switch off, since it was so close. Jocelyn seemed to notice the light go off immediately, because she came in within seconds, venturing, “Baby?”

He said nothing, trying to control his grin. He just slipped his hands behind his head, watching as Jocelyn felt her way to the light and flipped it on. Cassie, still in the bathroom doorway, noticed him right away and yelped, recoiling into the doorframe.

It was hilarious. “Lookin’ for me?” he asked the girls, smug.

Jocelyn, laughing, threw one of her toys at him (though she still clutched the turtle, he saw) and rushed over to Cassie. The bear she’d tossed bounced off his plastron and tumbled to the ground.

Cassie was in shock, eyes wide as she stared at him, and when Jocelyn reached her the redhead gripped her tight.

“Holy _shit,”_ she breathed.

“Uh, so, Cassie, this is Raphael,” Jocelyn introduced. “Raphael, Cassandra.”

“A pleasure,” he said.

Giggling and visibly nervous, Cassie hid her face in Jocelyn’s shoulder. He grinned, then got up to his feet. Giving the friend a bit of mercy, he focused on Jocelyn, asking, “So, like my gift?”

She gave the hugest smile, mashing the toy against her mouth. “Sweetheart,” she said, and it sounded half like a chastisement and half like a compliment.

And it gave him a little thrill. He absolutely loved it when she praised him, even if it was just a single word spoken half in anger.

Cassie shuffled behind Jo, peeking out from behind her, looking him up and down with owl-eyes. And maybe he was just showing off at this point, but he intentionally straightened his back to his full height and strode over. While Cassie shrank back, clinging to Jocelyn and holding her breath, he leaned down.

As if Cassie weren’t even there, Jocelyn lifted her arms to embrace him and accept his kiss.

“Holy shit,” he heard Cassie whisper.

Oh, he liked her.


	29. Be Safe

**Rating:** X (swearing/sexual content)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Suffice to say Jocelyn had _not_ been expecting this. Not only had Raphael come over without calling (how’d he know she was even here? Surveillance?) but he also gave her the cutest little gift _and_ must have been eavesdropping, because the way he’d played with her and Cassie seemed to have been designed to show off. 

And she was _thrilled_ with the toy. It was just a teeny little stuffed turtle, but it was easily the cutest toy she now owned. Not to mention its inclusion immediately eased the niggling anxiety in her head, thanks to the loss of one of her stuffed animals. 

Had he done that intentionally, picking it to replace what was lost? 

_Sweetheart!_

The three of them took various seats around her room then, Cassie so intrigued she couldn’t stem a tide of questions. Raphael, Jo noticed, was strangely patient as he dealt with her frenzied queries. Normally he got annoyed quickly – evidently he was in a great mood and, as such, had no trouble handling Cassie’s enthusiasm. 

Cecilia came home soon after, having had to work later to make up for her late start. By then she’d texted Jocelyn to alert her of the timeframe, and Jo left Raph and Cassie to it while she started with dinner. 

Both of them joined her in the kitchen within minutes. She wondered if Cassie was uneasy being alone with Raphael, or if Raphael just wanted to stay that close to Jocelyn. 

Probably both, she mused. 

They were chatting non-stop, the girls still in leotards, when Cecilia came in. The older woman stopped dead when she saw Raphael was there – he just greeted her with a little wave and a _Hey, Mrs. Delaghy_ – then forged on ahead with a harsh breath. 

Her approval was still low, but at least she hadn’t started yelling. 

Dinner, in Jo’s opinion, was bizarre. It’d been strangely comfortable until Cecilia joined them, and then it turned awkward. Cassie did her damnedest to keep things relaxed, and Raphael didn’t look the least bit stressed, but it couldn’t quite ease the tension. 

Still, Jo was grateful to see just how much her mother was _trying_. 

After dinner, Cecilia handled the dishes (her one household job, as it were) and Cassie cut out to take a shower. Jo and Raphael took the chance for what it was and immediately started making out. 

He didn’t ask about her bruises, she noticed, but he also didn’t touch her anywhere _near_ them. And he quickly shifted from kissing her to licking and sucking at her neck. She was all sweaty from her long hours dancing with Cassie; her boyfriend’s enthusiasm told her he liked it. 

She should’ve guessed a gym rat like him would enjoy having a sweat-drenched lover. 

By the time Cassie was dried off, dressed, and came back, Jo was in Raphael’s lap and her neck bore three new love bites. Almost at once, as they gained an audience, he turned embarrassed; it made her snicker. Poor baby, she thought. He must not have intended to do so much and now he was thinking he overdid it. 

She gave his lower lip a suck, then winked when his attention snapped to her, letting him know without words that she was pleased. He gave a shy smile, looking away. 

Cassie, uncomfortable now, commented, “Couldn’t wait for me to go home first, huh?” 

Jo stuck her tongue out at her friend. “Would _you_ have been able to wait, in my place?” 

The redhead hesitated, then answered, “Touché.” 

That just made Raphael’s embarrassment worse. He moved Jo from his lap to wander over to the window and gaze out at the night, arms crossed. When Jocelyn met Cassie’s eyes, the pair of them gave huge grins and winced at each other, silently agreeing that Raphael was _adorable_. 

“Come on,” Jo chuckled, reaching for Cassie, “I’ll see you out.” 

The front door was so close it was practically pointless, but they ended up chatting at the doorway for a few minutes before they parted anyway – mainly they ended up discussing Charlotte and Denise again, but Cassie also added a wink and teasingly asked if Raphael had any brothers. 

“Actually, yes,” Jo chuckled. 

Blinking, surprised, Cassie checked, “What, really?” 

“Three of ‘em, yeah. Could set you up,” Jo winked at her. 

Suddenly uncomfortable and embarrassed, Cassie shook her head. “Aha, no, don’t think so,” she giggled. 

Jo just gave a little shrug, accepting it without pushing. She knew the guys, being _turtles_ , weren’t exactly the most desirable of guys for most humans. Green-skinned bald reptiles? They were alien enough that she imagined most people would find them gross. In that sense, Jo was an anomaly. She thought they were pretty damn hot, Raphael most of all, and she was fully aware that she was part of a _very_ slim minority for thinking so. 

She couldn’t expect Cassie to share her tastes. 

“Well, if you wanna meet ‘em, lemme know,” Jo told her. 

Still uncomfortable, Cassie answered, “Think I’m good with knowing just _one_ of ‘em for now, thanks.” 

They said their goodbyes at last and Cassie headed out, already pulling out her phone to call her parents. When Jo shut the door behind her, she caught her mother’s gaze from the living room. 

Hesitant, she considered what to do next. She ached to spend more time with Raphael, but she also had a lot more talking to do with her mother. There was a kind of stand-off happening between the two humans, and it ended with Cecilia getting up from the couch and walking towards her down the hallway. 

Stopping beside her, Cecilia said, “How about we spend Monday together, just you and me?” 

_Olive branch,_ Jo thought again, starting to smile. “I’ll be there,” she agreed with a nod. 

“No boyfriends allowed,” her mother added dryly. 

Jocelyn grinned, thinking that must have been so hard for Cecilia – accepting that Raphael was her boyfriend instead of some kind of villain. 

“No promises,” Jo told her. 

Cecilia gave a little smile, then opened her mouth and closed it again. After a moment whatever she’d been about to say was pushed aside. “Good night,” she said instead. 

“Good night,” Jo returned, watching as her mother went to her room. Then, grinning, she all but skipped back to her room, giving a spin as she went in the archway. 

Raphael was standing by the doorway, against the wall, arms crossed and smiling. Turning her grin to him, she linked her arms around his neck and – since she was still wearing her ballet slippers – stood on her toes. He shifted, slipping one around around her and under her ass, his opposite hand lifting to cup her neck. 

“Mother-daughter day, huh?” he asked. 

“Mm,” she agreed lightly. 

“I’m glad.”

So was she. 

So much so, in fact, that she couldn’t smother a series of naughty desires. She replied, “I’m gonna go shower.” Then, withdrawing from him, she added, “You’re welcome to join me.” 

He looked away, rubbing his mouth. “Your mom’s _still here_ , ya know,” he reminded her. 

As if that were a deterrent? “So?” she prompted. “If you’re worried, I promise I’ll _try_ to not make you scream.” 

He laughed, shaking his head, gaze everywhere else but at her. He could pretend he didn’t like her teasing all he liked, but she knew it pleased him. 

“Don’t go anywhere,” she told him as she headed for the bathroom. “I still haven’t paid you back for the gift yet.” Though she didn’t glance back, she’d bet money he was watching her as she went, eyes glued to her ass. 

He was an ass-man, after all. Lately he’d been touching it more and more, slowly growing more comfortable fondling her. 

She liked that. 

Jocelyn intentionally lingered in the shower, humming and sometimes singing to herself. She wanted him riled and needy and expectant by the time she returned. To that end she even took the time to carefully wash her mass of curls, then wring out the water. 

At first she intended to use her hair dryer, but after seeing her reflection she decided against it. Her hair, heavy with water, reached below her ass and nearly matched her skin tone – and she thought it looked _really_ fucking sexy. She preened for a while, examining her reflection and tossing her hair this way and that, pleased with herself. 

When she finally exited the bathroom, she wore nothing but a (specially-chosen) red towel around her torso. Raphael was currently sitting on her bed, scrolling through his phone, and he glanced up at her – and sucked in a sharp breath, going rigid all at once. 

The protective case housing his cell _cracked_ in his grip. 

She’d pulled her hair over her shoulder for effect and now she leaned against the doorframe, feeling sexy as hell. “Miss me?” she teased. 

He swallowed. She watched as his gaze traveled up and down her, lingering on her legs in particular, and it made heat flush her. 

She went straight for him, straddling him, and heard his phone hit the floor. His hands, she noted immediately, kept clenching and relaxing, wanting to grab her but refusing to. 

“It’s okay to touch me, you know,” she told him. 

His brow creased, caught between desire and reluctance. “Jocelyn…it’s only been three days,” he reminded her. 

Her bruises were still fresh. She knew that’s what he meant. But she replied instead, “All I just heard is that it’s been three days since my last orgasm.” 

Groaning, he covered his face with both hands and fell back on her bed, the motion causing her to bounce on him. His weight crushed her mattress enough to make him _almost_ look relaxed and comfortable in the soft cushions. 

Knowing he probably still felt incredibly guilty, she gave him the option of refusing – namely by leaving her towel on unless _he_ pulled it off of her. 

She leaned down, crossing her arms on his chest to make a little pillow for herself. She watched him for a few moments, seeing how his throat and jaw kept pulsing and jerking. God damn, that was sexy. She could watch his muscles jumping in literally any part of him and it would arouse her. 

“Can you smell it yet?” she asked, curious. Just imagining getting intimate with him always gave her particular little quivers, and she was starting to wonder at what point he could smell her need. 

When he pulled his hands from his face, she saw how large his pupils had become and couldn’t help a big grin. God, she loved how lusty he was – even if he spent more of his time resisting it than giving in. 

“Yeah,” he admitted on a ragged breath. 

“Good,” she replied, pushing herself back up and then grabbing his harness to pull on him. 

He followed as if magnetized, kissing her the moment he was upright again. His arms wound around her as their tongues danced, one hand going up and down her spine (he liked doing that, she’d noticed), the other predictably going right to her ass. It even slid under her towel to feel her recently-washed skin. 

He broke the kiss with a shudder, biting out, “Fuck, you’re…too soft…” 

Unsure whether that was a compliment or a fear, she just replied, “Enjoy it.” 

For a moment he hesitated, and she could see the conflict in his gaze. She could practically hear him debating whether to touch her more or not, if he could trust himself, if it was okay to try… 

Though she ached to act, to kiss and touch and grind, she didn’t. 

This time it would be entirely _his_ choice. 

A part of him seemed to be beseeching her, like he needed her help to decide. So she chose the safest route she knew: she lifted her hands to stroke his cheeks. Comforting, affectionate, non-sexual – accepting. His golden-green eyes softened on her, and for one second she saw his emotions totally unguarded. 

Her heart started hammering in her chest. 

Because what she saw there was total, bone-deep, all-encompassing love. 

Before she could even think of how to respond to that it was gone again, his shields back up in the time it took to blink. And, at last, he answered her desire with his own. 

Both hands cupped her rear and pulled, jerking her against him and bringing her mouth to his. Thrilled, she happily took his affections, even as she mentally reeled over what she’d just seen. 

_Holy shit. Holy shit._ That was _love!_ She was in love with a guy who loved her back! Giddy, excited and needy, she was all over him with affection and passion. He probably didn’t realize what she’d seen, but that just meant all the cards were now hers. _She_ got to decide how this played out. 

And she decided to give him a reward: total control. No pushing or demands from her this time; everything he got would be everything he wanted. 

What he wanted, she soon learned, was more of that delicious grinding. This time he reclined for her, letting her straddle him, and guided her motions by keeping hold of her ass. And, she noticed, he kept glancing at her bruises, but all it seemed to do was remind him to keep his touch gentle. 

Her day had been exhausting and her muscles ached from how much exercise she’d gotten, yet she managed to find enough energy for this. And, not to brag, but she _loved_ it. Being able to rub her sex against his whole length, base to tip and back again, felt incredible. 

It got more and more slippery with each grind, too, making the glide constantly easier. For the sake of easing Raphael’s fear of embarrassment – namely not letting her mother hear their mutual pleasured cries – Jocelyn kept biting her lips on moans and comments. But it was a hell of a struggle – especially when she climaxed on him, shuddering and convulsing as electric pulses coursed through her, her inner walls clenching at nothing. She couldn’t help a whimpering exhale as heat flooded her, flushing her neck and face red. 

_Fuck,_ that’d felt good. 

Before lethargy could suffuse her she set back in, ignoring her own sensitivity even as each pass gave her just a little too much sensation and made her shiver and wince. They weren’t done yet – if she had a say they’d _never_ be done – and she wanted to see her lover come all over himself. 

She’d bet it would be sexy as hell. 

Wanting to egg him on, she put her hands to work on him. She could only do so much with the constant grinding, but she found that slipping her hand under his erection and running her thumb over the slanted tip in time with the thrusting made him shudder and growl. Pleased with his reactions, she kept it up, growing steadily more firm with each pass. 

She knew the moment he got close because he chose then to start grinding back, his motions making her bounce on him with each one. It felt similar to sex in the best way, so she shut her eyes and tried to imagine him inside her. Thrusting, grinding, making her hair and tits bounce; she envisioned how it would feel with his cock filling her up. 

It turned her on so bad, made her so damn hot, that she already felt close to another orgasm. And when she heard him growl and felt his hot cum lance her hand, it happened. A hearty cry fell from her lips, her hips shoving harder against him for more sensation. She had to focus through the clenching and the surging pleasure to keep from digging her nails into the slick flesh in her hand. 

Quivering from it all, she noticed in the aftermath that his hands were gripping the bed instead of her, clenching the mattress tight. Well, she mused, that was one way to keep himself from adding to her bruises. Clever. 

As things settled down, she felt his penis slip away, receding. It kind of made her sad. And, she saw, he absolutely _had_ made a mess of himself. Most of his ejaculate was in her hand, but the rest made a trio of thick lines up his plastron. They _almost_ reached the largest plates, the ones she thought of as his pecs cause that’s what they looked like. 

God damn, that was some range. 

By the time he caught his breath and looked at her, nostrils relaxing as his breathing evened out, she had started to suck his remains off her hand. She let him see as she did so, knowing it was a turn-on of his. And _maybe_ she made a hella sexy lick just for his benefit. 

Muscles jumped in his jaw as he watched her, and it made her think that even if he _didn’t_ taste divine she would have done it anyway. He looked so fucking sexy right then, eyes riveted to her as she worked, muscles a mixture of relaxed and rigid. Just watching his chest rise and fall as he caught his breath was hot as hell. 

“You’re crazy,” he murmured. 

“Uh-huh,” she agreed lightly. 

He grinned. 

* * *

Raph didn’t know how she did it, but every day spent with Jocelyn was his new favorite day. It was already making him anticipate their next encounter and he hadn’t even left yet. 

He had a lot to think about after the night’s events, but right now all he could think about was how amazing Jocelyn was. She’d seduced the hell out of him and she hadn’t had to _try_. Seeing her exit the bathroom in a towel with her hair wet and heavy over her shoulder had nearly been his undoing. 

And then she just had to come over, sit on him, and tease him. He’d expected it wouldn’t take very long for her to get him willing to try intimacy again, but it’d only been _three days!_ She was his weakness, there was no doubting that now. 

He’d wanted more from her so damn bad, even as it was tempered with the painful realization of just how fragile she was. Stuck between what he wanted and what he wanted to avoid, words catching in his throat, he’d mentally begged her for some ray of light or sign. 

She’d given him warmth and affection. And that was it, he was done. The war was over; Jocelyn was the victor. 

He found he was alright with that. 

Now he was caught between embarrassment and amusement and appreciation. For fuck’s sake, when he put them in this position he hadn’t realized it would end with him cumming on himself. It was kind of funny and kind of awkward – yet it’d felt so good, what did he care? 

Besides, he was _pretty_ sure his little lover had come _twice_ (he wasn’t fully sure because his own orgasm had wiped out all thoughts at the end there). The knowledge gave him a kind of high; his motions had been mostly selfish, guiding her to grind on him the way _he_ wanted it, and she’d still climaxed for him. 

Twice. 

Damn, if that didn’t give his ego a hell of a shot. 

Now Raphael watched as his girlfriend leaned down, crossing her arms and resting on him. He really loved it when she did that, though he couldn’t explain why. Reaching up, he started stroking her hair and face, admiring her. 

She seemed to be doing the same. 

“Whatchu lookin’ at?” he asked. 

Smiling, she answered, “You.” 

Curious what she would say next, he corrected, “And what do you see?” 

Slowly her smile widened. “The sexiest guy alive,” she answered. 

_Fuck_. Why did she have to be so…accepting? He’d ached for it his whole life, but now that he had it he found he couldn’t handle it all. A part of him _needed_ for her to dislike something – anything! – about him, because damn it, it’s what he was used to. Total acceptance felt impossible. 

Getting everything he wanted from her threw him for a loop, making him constantly wonder if this was even real. For all he knew he’d landed on his head at some point and was now in a coma. This might all be a dream. 

If it were, he decided, then he was happy to stay here in his fantasy world. 

Jocelyn chose then to sit up, stretching her back and arching. He took the moment to admire her, snagging on each of the sparse freckles visible on her arms and chest. Then she got off him and he almost pouted. 

“Alright,” she sighed, waving him up. “I gotta get to sleep.” 

He sat up, sending a glance at the clock. It was barely after nine! Surprised, he said, “Sleep? You usually wake up right around now.” 

It was how her schedule worked – she slept twice in a day, three-to-five hours at a time. She always had, the whole time he’d known her. Getting up at ten and going back to bed at three had been commonplace for her. 

She shrugged. “I’ve been sleeping whole nights lately. Thanks to you,” she added, nudging his leg with hers. Before he could analyze that, she went on, “Besides, I’m tired. I was dancing _all day_ today.” 

That surprised him. “All day?” he echoed. 

Nodding, she confirmed, “From like nine till you got here, yeah.” 

Wow. She had more stamina than he’d realized. 

A little voice suggested she could probably last for _hours_ in bed; he had to shove that thought away, lest it become his undoing. 

No, he told himself. Now wasn’t the time to think about that. She was right, after all – she needed her sleep. He got up with a nod, though he caught her by the waist before she could get into bed. Dropping down to her height, he gave her a deep, soul-searching kind of kiss. 

She hummed in approval, her hands petting up and down his neck. God damn, he loved when she did that. 

“See you soon,” he promised her as he withdrew. When he started to head to her window, though, she called him back. 

“Uhh, baby?” 

He paused, glancing back to her. She gestured up and down her belly, then looked pointedly at his. He looked down at himself – and gave a harsh, strangled laugh. _Whoops_. Pointing at the bathroom, he said, “I should, uh…”

“Yeah,” she agreed, nodding. 

Well, that was embarrassing. It was less so to have Jocelyn notice ‘the mess’ than his brothers, though, so he took it all the same. By the time he’d cleaned up and came out, Jocelyn was in a tank top and panties and climbing into bed. 

For a moment Raphael had a hard time taking his eyes off her, unsure whether he wanted to save his pride and leave or come over to her for _another_ good-night kiss. 

His phone rang. Pulling it out (and reminding himself he’d need another case for it), he answered. “Yeah?”

Donny’s voice came through: “We’ve got trouble.” 

“On my way,” Raph said, and the line died. To Jocelyn, he explained, “Time to go to work.”

Her expression went from curiosity to dread. “Be careful,” she said. 

It was the first time he’d seen her look like that, and it made his heart clench tight. She was worried, he realized. Scared for him. He would be fine – he knew he’d be fine – but knowing he had someone waiting for him, someone who was scared and stressed, added a new kind of weight to his shell. 

It wasn’t enough anymore to just fight and have fun in the middle of it all. Now he had to be cautious, plan his actions more carefully, make sure he didn’t take extra risks…

…because Jocelyn expected him to come back in one piece. 

He grinned for her, though he didn’t quite feel the levity it implied. Arms wide, he replied, “Who’re you talkin’ to? I’m indestructible.” 

She gave a tiny, tentative smile, but her eyes never lost that fear. 

Knowing he had little time to stay, he left it at that. She came to the window after he departed, but while she usually immediately closed the blinds and the curtains…this time she stood there and watched. He saw her still standing right there from several rooftops away. 

_Best take good care of yourself, Raph,_ he told himself. It was obvious now that she cared for him so much she’d easily cry for him if he got hurt. 

And imagining her bawling her eyes out as she had for her father, but instead for _him_ , pained him. No. He wouldn’t let himself be the cause of her tears, not now or ever. He’d take care of himself – so she wouldn’t have to cry for him.


	30. Snap

**Rating:** X (swearing/violence/sexual content)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Mother-Daughter Day. 

It was bizarre for Jocelyn. No matter how she scoured her memories, this had never happened before – not even when her father was still here. For all that they loved each other, Cecilia and Jocelyn had never really tried to connect. 

Now, however, they were. 

When Jocelyn got up that Monday – first checking her phone and finding a text from Raphael, assuring her that he was okay and everything was fine; this was the second time that thoughtful sweetheart had done this – she intended to make breakfast as she usually did. Instead, her mother suggested they go out. 

“Let someone cook for _you_ for once,” Cecilia said. 

Honestly, Jocelyn thought she was a better cook than most restaurant chefs, so she didn’t particularly like going out. But she kind of liked this idea, the plan feeling _right_. So she went about picking shoes and clothes, putting in her contacts, and met her mother at the door. 

Cecilia was, as always, dressed like a goddess, complete with makeup. But while she bore a lovely skirt-suit and heels, Jocelyn had just put on a halter and shorts with sneakers. They couldn’t have looked _less_ like mother and daughter. 

That day a tradition was born. 

Monday became exclusively Mother-Daughter Day. They’d go out, hang out, have someone else cook all three meals for them, do some shopping if they felt so inclined – Jocelyn kept insisting _she_ pay for whatever purchases they made (she had a bank account which her mother had been funneling money into for the last seven years; by now she had over six grand in there) and Cecilia kept telling her ‘no’ – and always in between, they talked. 

For the first time, they were learning each other. Cecilia loved Greek mythology; Jocelyn had never realized this, despite her middle name being ‘Rhea’ (the mother of the gods) and her brother’s being ‘Apollo’ (god of the sun). 

When her parents met, her mother had actually been dabbling with drugs. Julian had gotten her off them before they could take hold of her life; in return, Cecilia fell head over heels for him. And though no connection could be proven, that era was when Cecilia became diabetic. Whether it was connected to the drugs or just simple coincidence, she couldn’t say. 

This was all fascinating and heart-wrenching in one for the blonde. She’d never known her mother had held such dark secrets. 

In return, Jocelyn talked about her friends, her school life, her troupe’s current play, and – of course – Raphael. Cecilia didn’t approve and wouldn’t any time soon, but Jo hoped to change her mind with the help of endless praise. 

Little by little, she thought she saw her mother’s gaze soften, coming to accept the truth. 

And then Cecilia asked, “What about sex? Are you being safe?”

Jocelyn couldn’t help a snort, struggling to hold back laughter. “M-Mom, okay,” she started, having trouble controlling herself. “First, we haven’t had sex, and second, _seriously?_ He’s a reptile. Do you _really_ think he could get me pregnant?” 

Cecilia was hesitant for a moment, then answered, “Theseus had two fathers – a human king, and Poseidon.” 

Jo rolled her eyes. “Really? You’re gonna use Greek myths as fact?” 

“There’s nothing that proves the stories _didn’t_ happen,” Cecilia pointed out. “You, of all people, should realize that just because something is considered ‘fiction’ that doesn’t mean it isn’t possible. And don’t roll your eyes at me.” 

Leaning in, Jo replied, “They’re mutants, not gods. This is all science, not magic.” 

“With every century we’re finding more and more that magic _is_ science.” 

At that, Jo hesitated, then intoned, “No condom could fit him.” 

Cecilia’s eyes almost burst from her skull. 

Her reaction had Jocelyn laughing again, though she struggled not to. 

“I thought you said you hadn’t had sex?!” Cecilia demanded. 

“N-nothing pene-trative,” Jo giggled. “We’ve done s-some other s-stuff.” 

That did _not_ please the older woman. She scowled down at her lunch salad, grumbling, “Should make you wear a chastity belt.” 

Jo scoffed. “If you can find one that could withstand _him_ , you’re welcome to try.” 

It took a moment. As Cecilia stared at Jocelyn, shocked, Jo started to realize how that sounded. _Crap._

“I-I just meant, like, he’s strong,” she tried to explain. 

That made it worse. Her mother’s face paled. 

Miming with her hands, she blurted in between strangled laughs, “He could _rip_ it off, with his _hands!”_

Cecilia didn’t react other than to blink, and Jocelyn couldn’t help it: she dissolved into embarrassed giggles. Thus ended their first Mother-Daughter Day discussion about Raphael. 

He wasn’t brought up again for the rest of the day, and the next time Cecilia saw him, she was scowling all night. He, of course, noticed. 

“Why does your mom keep glaring at me?” he asked. 

Jocelyn, caught between amusement and embarrassment, relayed the story. 

He looked _almost_ as shocked as Cecilia had been. “You _told_ her that?!” he blurted. 

She shrugged. “I wasn’t gonna lie.” 

Groaning, he slumped forward, rubbing his face. 

After that, Jocelyn started telling time by the Mother-Daughter Days. She counted how many times per week she practiced for the recital, how many times she got to see Raphael – and how many times she got to be intimate with him. 

To her absolute delight, he was growing bolder with her – and he was giving her _constant_ hickeys. She never had fewer than two anymore, and every time he noticed one was just about healed, he gave her another (they weren’t always on her neck, either – right now she had a huge one under her left breast). She found the act so damn sexy it almost always ended with at least _one_ orgasm. 

So far she hadn’t said “I love you” to him yet. But this lack was part of a plan: she was waiting for her hip-bruises to heal first. She knew, without a doubt, that when she said those words, he was going to lose it. Her plan, thus, was to make sure there was nothing negative between them first, and – hopefully – to have already made love at least once before then. 

This is because she knew that no matter what she said or how long it took to get here, he was _still_ going to be hesitant and overly careful their first time. And she didn’t want his fears holding him back, keeping a piece of him separate from her in that final act. 

To this end, she’d started begging him: “Please, baby, I want it…please…give it to me, I need it, I need you…!” 

Her words were breaking him down, little by little. Every time she pleaded for more, he groaned louder, shook harder, got just a little rougher. It probably didn’t help his struggles for self-control that the more he lost it, the more aroused she became. 

And they were doing more and more thrusting exercises for him, as well. Her favorite so far: they were standing, him behind her, his cock between her thighs. It felt great _and_ she got to use her toned muscles to squeeze and tease him in the process, leaving her hands open for whatever she wanted to do with them. He’d kept _his_ hands off her that time, braced against the wall, and had constantly rubbed his mouth on her neck – like he so badly wanted to bite her but wouldn’t let himself. 

It was _extremely_ arousing. 

Afterwards, embarrassed with himself, he’d gone to clean up the mess he’d left on the wall before it could stain. She’d protested, saying she could handle it, but Raphael was shockingly chivalrous when it came to intimacy, she’d found. He’d refused her help entirely. 

It took almost exactly one month – four M-D-Days – for her bruises to finally fade all the way, leaving behind nothing. Not even a twinge remained to remind her it’d ever been there. 

She was _so_ ready to lay it all on him now. It was a little sad she hadn’t managed to seduce him into going all the way yet as she’d planned, but she was also too impatient to wait any longer. By now she knew that his hesitations and fears had vanished, save one: his massive strength. That meant they could have at it any time, provided he maintained trust in himself. 

Now she just had to wait for the right moment. 

A fucking _fight_ had not been her ideal setting. 

* * *

Raphael couldn’t explain what had happened. Everything had been fine – it should’ve remained fine. But now he was wrangling with guilt and shame, horrified with himself after fighting with his family. Somehow his emotions had spiraled out of control, and he just couldn’t get over the pain of it all. 

Ten minutes ago Raph, Jocelyn and his brothers had gathered around Donny’s computer alcove. The goal? Show her some videos taken from Donny’s shoulder cam, basically showing her from a first-person perspective what it was like to be one of them. The climbing, the sneaking, the jumping, the fighting; the death-defying stunts and skills and vigilante justice they doled out. 

Jocelyn – [looking stunning as always](https://78.media.tumblr.com/6d9c0110a245d877170cd06ea79c5b4b/tumblr_p2j2mvyuEz1wtuqpio6_r1_1280.png), in Raph’s opinion – had left her jacket on the couch to come over and view the clips with them. To be honest, he had a hard time focusing on the screens with how short that skirt was…

One such scene caught Raphael kicking a member of the Foot Clan in full gear, giant turtle foot to human chest. The man launched backwards and smacked into a wall, collapsing onto the ground. Motionless. 

“H’oh, shit,” Jocelyn laughed, “that guy’s dead.” 

‘That guy’ had received a handful of cracked ribs. He was fine now – though in prison. Still, her comment made Raph smile. 

Several such clips were shown to her – including one of them as they were free-falling, Donny perched on Raph’s chest, the younger brother badgering his elder to “do the thing”. 

The visual of falling had Jocelyn tense as hell, and she blurted as the scene played out, “What thing? Is that a pool? Tell me that’s a pool – _what thing?!”_ Her eyes got wider and more panicked as the seconds ticked by – and she jerked, confused, when Raph shot into his shell to ready for the impact. 

_So cute_ , he thought.

Then she gave a tiny shriek and looked away, covering her face, right as Raph hit the water. The next time she glanced up, giving the screens a tentative peek, the camera was whipping around as Donny sailed through the air again. 

“Right, done with that now, thanks,” she deadpanned, pointedly looking away. 

And then the night Raphael had first seen her came up, his brothers quickly supplying all sorts of lies as Raphael kept trying to get them to shut up. “He was totally enamored,” “Should’ve seen the way he looked at you,” “Went right out to get a bouquet of flowers,” “Sang that song _all night_ ,” and so on. None of Raph’s attempts at getting them to quit it were working, and Jocelyn just kept chuckling at each new comment. 

It ended when Mikey went too far and said, “Love at first sight!” 

And Raphael saw red. He didn’t even realize he’d moved, but suddenly Mikey was recoiling, holding his skull and blurting, “ _Ow_ , what the _fuck_ , bro?!” 

That was the beginning of the end. 

At once, everyone had gotten to their feet and squared off – Donny and Leo were in front of Mikey, pivoted and ready to intervene. Raphael managed a single step backwards, half of him wanting to hit Mikey again and half of him desperately trying to back away from this warpath. 

He didn’t want to hurt his brothers – not really, and certainly not like _this_ – but his impulses were overriding his higher thinking, leaving him with nothing but raw emotion. And that emotion wanted Mikey bloody. 

Then Jocelyn darted between the four of them, arms outstretched, trying to stop any possible altercation with a chorus of, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Guys–!” 

Donny reached out, snagged her arm and pulled her out from the middle of them. 

Logically, that was smart. The part of Raph’s mind still capable of rational thought was aware of that. His brother was just keeping her out of the path of danger. 

But the rest of him only saw his lover in a rival male’s grasp, practically pressed against him, and his previous outburst – coupled with this display – snapped something inside him. Possessive rage took control of him. It didn’t matter that he knew Jocelyn had chosen him, that she wasn’t into Donny and that his brother would never make a move regardless. 

Raphael’s instincts demanded he protect and possess her, even from family. 

He attacked. 

Gaze stuck on Donatello, Raph went straight for him. Leo managed to divert Raphael’s initial rush, him and Donny together keeping Jocelyn away from harm, but Raphael was far too pissed to see it. He danced around Leo towards Donny; by then Jo had skirted back a ways, keeping away from the flurry. 

Raph swung, Donny dodged; his fist tore out chunks of brick and concrete; the debris launched towards Jocelyn; Mikey quickly jumped in the way as she flinched, hugging her protectively as the mortar rained against his shell. Two of the computer monitors weren’t so lucky and got smashed with bits of rock, their screens flickering before the LCD liquid started leaking. 

Drawn out by the commotion, Splinter joined the fray, and while Mikey kept Jocelyn apart from the group the rest attempted to subdue Raphael. Everyone was talking, warning, pleading; none of it registered in his enraged mind. But between the three of them Raph was on the defensive, forcing him to keep moving back. 

And then he managed to get a hand around Donny’s neck and everyone instantly feared this would be it. His strength at what it was…there would be no stopping it. Donny didn’t have the muscle to withstand his elder brother’s fist strength and his taser wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing in Raph’s current state. Even all three of his brothers _and_ their father weren’t enough to match Raphael’s raw power. 

Then Jocelyn’s voice cut through the yells to _stop_ and _let go_ and _don’t do it_. 

_“Raphael!!”  
_

He jolted, gaze snapping over to her. Seeing her there, terrified, tears in her eyes with Mikey keeping a defensive stance in front of her, forced the haze to lift. The red-clad turtle relaxed with difficulty, horror and shame coursing through him as he realized what he’d been about to do. 

Letting go, he bit out, “I-I didn’t…this… _Donny_ …” 

Donatello backed off a handful of steps, a little shaky, a little shocked – but notably uninjured, breathing just fine. A wave of relief hit Raphael as he realized he hadn’t managed to hurt his brother. 

The entire spat had taken less than a minute, but in that time Raphael had almost irreparably damaged his family. Shaken, he gained distance, guilt slamming into him like a fucking missile. Every face he saw was shocked, disappointed, scared, horrified – all five of them feeling the same wash of emotions. 

Raphael dropped his head, starting to physically shake from how guilty he felt. 

Another second and he could’ve killed his little brother. 

There was no forgiving that. 

“My son…” Splinter began, hesitant. 

A part of Raphael was surprised that Splinter would still call him ‘son’ after that display. And it only made him feel worse; his head dropped further, shoulders hunching and hands clenching into fists. His heart hurt, his throat felt full, his eyes stung. 

What the _hell_ was wrong with him? He’d nearly – _grievously injured_ – his brother, someone he loved more than himself! 

By now he expected a verbal backlash. He deserved no less. But seconds kept ticking by with no one saying anything, and after a few moments he had to look up again. 

Their expressions had changed. 

Splinter and Mikey looked sad. Leo was radiating disapproval. And Donny…Donny looked resigned. He’d decided something, Raphael realized. Some conclusion or another had been reached. 

Why did that scare him so much? 

Jocelyn was the last one he glanced at – because, right then, she was the one he most feared. His family could come back from this. It would be hard, he’d have to work for it…but they’d come back. 

He was afraid Jocelyn wouldn’t. He was afraid she’d finally see how unstable he could be, how violent and furious his emotions were. 

How dangerous he was to her. 

His brothers weren’t going to kick him out or leave him behind. He knew that. But Jocelyn? 

Jocelyn might. 

Yet what he saw was her mind working behind her eyes, ticking, figuring things out. Though sorrow remained, the fear had gone. And, as he watched with mounting disbelief, she stepped around Mikey’s protective stance. Her arms lifted, beckoning him. 

This couldn’t possibly be real, he decided. 

“Come here,” she said. 

Fuck it. He’ll take fantasy, then. 

Shame and guilt were still hounding him, making it constantly harder to walk those few steps to his lover. By the time he reached her he felt weak, his muscles failing to support him. He dropped to his knees and clutched at Jocelyn. He pressed his face to her chest; her arms circled his neck. 

She was saying nothing, though, and right then he needed her to say something. Anything would do – she could make this better, he knew it. If anyone could fix this, it was her. He believed that. 

Or maybe he just desperately needed it to be true. 

He bit out, “I don’t know what…I didn’t…Jocelyn, I can’t…” 

He couldn’t finish a fucking thought is what he ‘couldn’t’. He was already clumsy as hell with talking about his emotions; right then it was even harder than usual. How could he possibly express how horrible he felt? His heart was pounding from fear, his eyes were wet; his hands were shaking and his throat had gone from ‘feeling full’ to ‘hurts too much to form words’. 

“It’s all right. Just breathe,” she told him. 

He could do that. But as he focused on her directive, he could feel that her heart was racing. Her breathing was uneven. Her arms were shaking. _He’d shocked and hurt her, too._ And he felt her lift her head and turn, knew she was looking at Donatello. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “Donny, this…” 

“It’s not your fault,” Leo told her before she could blame herself. 

“It’s mine,” Mikey said, subdued. “I shouldn’t have said…” He trailed off, sighed. 

Hearing Jocelyn and then Mikey try to blame themselves only made Raphael feel worse. Credit where it’s due. 

“It’s mine,” he breathed, but he didn’t think anyone else heard him and he wasn’t brave enough to repeat it. 

Several more heavy, dreadful seconds passed, and then Splinter spoke up. “Raphael,” he called, his tone back to being authoritative and sure. 

Raph turned his head slightly – enough to show he was listening but not enough to venture beyond Jocelyn’s shielding hold. 

“Take some time. Gather your thoughts. Then apologize to your brothers,” Splinter ordered, and that last part was spoken with a harder edge than the rest. 

“Yes, sensei,” was Raphael’s quiet response. 

This was going to be horrible. 

* * *

Ten minutes ago everything had been fine. Ten minutes ago it’d been just another day in the lair, with playful antics occurring every few seconds. Ten minutes ago everyone had been smiling and laughing. 

Now there was only silence. He was alone in his room, pacing, yearning for forgiveness and so ashamed of himself it made him nauseous. He wished Jocelyn were here with him right then, but she’d refused. He’d been desperate to stay in her arms, wanting nothing more than to hide and let all the consequences fall away. 

Instead, she’d withdrawn. A part of him felt betrayed by that. 

_I can’t help you with this. You need to handle it on your own,_ she’d said. He knew she was right, but after the way she’d calmed and comforted him it felt like a rejection. For all he knew, she’d left by now. The thought only made his riotous emotions worse, made the ache in his heart crippling. 

Maybe that was the last he’d see of her. God, that terrified him. 

There was too much to think about, too much to sort through. What in the fuck had happened? It’d started with Mikey’s love-at-first-sight comment, but why the hell had Raph reacted like he had? On top of the guilt and disbelief, he was also confused. 

He couldn’t even recall acting. He knew, both from Mikey’s reaction and a subsequent ache in his knuckles, that he’d punched. He’d knocked Mikey in the _head_. As the horror over going for Donny’s throat lessened, his horror for having struck Mikey like that rose. 

_Your reactions to Jo are still really strong,_ Leo had told him. 

That was putting it mildly. He had to get a handle on this possessiveness, put a stop to the violent outbursts. If he didn’t, he could end up truly hurting someone he loved…or worse. 

And that was too terrifying to contemplate. 

He’d never been like this before and he didn’t know how to deal with it now. Obviously he needed to apologize – to all of them – and he thought he could handle that. But then what? How was he supposed to make up for it? He already guessed he was going to be sent to the _Hashi_ , and by now he’d gladly accept it. 

But that wasn’t going to be enough. He didn’t know yet how badly he’d broken things; he just knew he _had_ , and that meant he had to fix it. His brothers weren’t going to forgive him easily. 

Procrastinating wasn’t going to help, either. Now that he’d done as bade, collecting his thoughts, he knew it was time to go face them. Which, as it turned out, was almost too hard to even attempt. He stared at his curtained doorway, hesitant, and for a moment he was incapable of lifting his foot to take that first step. 

Fear, pain, shame, confusion, terror, and always that petrifying horror…it suffused every inch of him, making him reluctant to face this opponent. 

But he couldn’t fix this from in his room. 

Holding his breath, he stepped out, forcing himself to face the coming onslaught.


	31. Crazy

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing)

* * *

* * *

* * *

As Raphael stepped from his room into the main chamber, he took stock of everyone. Splinter was nowhere in sight, though Raph would bet his father was watching from somewhere. Leo and Donny were on either side of the wall he’d demolished, discussing repairs and stability. Jocelyn, he saw with surprise, was still here, seated on the couch. Legs crossed and hands in her lap, she looked at ease – if not for the serious expression she wore. And beside her, leaning forward and leg-to-leg with her, was Mikey. 

A whole new pinch clenched at his heart – because he _got_ it. By now, to Mikey,  Jocelyn wasn’t just a girl or even Raph’s girlfriend. She was _family_. Mikey’s position was clearly designed to keep her protected. The fact that she was letting him sit so close, too, showed she understood that as well. 

Raph’s ache came from the knowledge that his brothers were now protecting Jocelyn _from him_. 

_That_ was how badly he’d broken things. 

As he strode out Leo and Donny’s conversation stopped. All eyes landed on Raphael – and he had to fight off an urge to turn right back around and go hide in a corner somewhere. Facing down his brothers _and_ his lover, all while knowing his father was watching from somewhere, was more daunting a task than any Raph had ever tackled before. 

And he’d tackled a _lot_ of daunting tasks. 

He wasn’t sure how to begin and the silence that greeted him wasn’t making it any easier. It wasn’t his style to be the first to break the ice – he wasn’t good at “talks”; he was primarily reactionary in such situations. Hesitant, he sent Jocelyn a desperate look. 

She knew him in a way his brothers didn’t and never would. She’d know he wanted her help. 

Almost imperceptibly, she shook her head. 

_Great_. 

Raphael spent one more moment sorting through his thoughts, trying to decide where to start. Maybe the easiest task first? In that case, he looked pointedly at Leo. 

He owed _all_ his brothers an apology, after all – not just the two he’d assaulted. 

“First off…Leo,” he started, “I know you’re disappointed in me…” 

His elder brother gave a little nod, then offered what Jocelyn had refused: feedback. “That’s putting it mildly,” Leo told him. 

That only made Raphael feel worse. Which, he reasoned, was what he deserved. “There’s…not much else I can say,” he went on, “except I’m sorry.” 

Leonardo gave more nods, taking it in. “I think it goes without say that this is _not_ going to happen again,” he directed. 

Hands up, Raph swore, “No, not ever.” 

He couldn’t let himself fall into this pit _again_. No matter what happened in the future he would _not_ allow that haze to take him a second time. 

_No matter what._

And now things got harder. Focusing on Donny next, Raph almost couldn’t force out any words. The guilt had multiplied now that he was here, in front of his brothers, able to see their reactions to his outburst. 

To his surprise, though, Donny merely looked thoughtful. 

_Brainiac._

“Donny,” he began, “I can’t…explain…what I was thinking or even what I was feeling. I’m just…so sorry I targeted you.” After all, of the three of Raph’s brothers, Donny had been the closest to death in that fight. He just also happened to be unharmed. 

Unlike Mikey… 

For a moment there was no reaction from Donatello. Then he looked very directly at….Jocelyn?…and back to Raphael. They’d only held gazes for a second, but in that time Raph swore he saw some measure of communication. 

It started a fearful clenching in his stomach. What were they ‘talking’ about? 

Donny replied simply, “Apology accepted.” 

That was it? 

Confused, Raph stared at him for several seconds, having a hard time grasping what had just happened. _Apology accepted._ Seriously? Sure, that wasn’t the same thing as “I forgive you”, but the ease with which Donny had offered the words still stunned Raphael. It was as if his little brother had already decided what was doing to happen next, making Raph’s apology utterly pointless. 

He left that alone, though, instead turning his attention to his youngest brother. 

Mikey lifted his chin when Raph looked his way, eyes saying, _About damn time._ Impatient as Mikey tended to be, Raphael wasn’t surprised by that look. 

This was the hardest hurdle to jump. _Michelangelo_ was the one who’d taken a fist to the skull, a knock that could’ve seriously hurt him. A cracked skull, damaged blood vessels, a concussion, brain damage…Raph could’ve caused a lasting, if not permanent, injury. 

His guilt was the worst now, especially considering he low-key loved Mikey the most of his brothers. Outwardly it might not seem so – and that was intentional on Raph’s part – but he got along with Mikey best. Their spats were only their way of having fun; if it ever really bothered Mikey, Raph would stop in an instant. 

Hell, the two of them had shared a bunk bed for several years. No matter how annoying Mikey got, Raph was always the most calm knowing Mikey was right there if his brother needed him. 

Within reach. 

He’d never actually hurt Mikey before and he felt horrible about it now. A flick to the head or bruise to the leg was nothing worth noting – they did _that_ on a daily basis – but a fist to the head _was_. 

Unable to stem the tide of mingled guilt and horror, Raph breathed, “I’m so sorry, Mikey…” 

In an instant Mikey’s gaze softened and he looked down at the floor. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and asked, “Why’d you hit me?” 

Raphael wished he knew. “I don’t know,” he answered with a pitiful shake of his head. That swing had been so reactionary he couldn’t even figure out where the impulse had come from, let alone why he’d lost control of himself enough to let it go. 

That drew up Mikey’s gaze again, spearing Raph with a measuring look. They maintained eye contact for a few moments, then the built-up guilt had Raphael shifting his gaze away – 

– straight to Jocelyn. He couldn’t help it; she was right there on Mikey’s other side. And Raph knew he’d have to apologize to _her_ , too, even though his father hadn’t ordered it. After all, it was too obvious this fight had been because of his feelings for her. She hadn’t been the cause, but she was damn well the center of it. 

He wet his lips but before he could say anything Donny spoke up. 

“Fear.” 

All gazes swapped over to the purple-clad turtle. Mikey was confused; Leo was curious; Raphael was baffled; Jocelyn was…calm. 

Eyes right on Raph, Donny stressed, “You’re afraid.” 

Raphael couldn’t hold back a scoff – even though he knew it was true. That was the nature of fear: no one ever just showed it. 

“I ain’t scared,” he shot back. 

“Yes, you are,” Jocelyn argued. 

Raph’s gaze snapped back to her, feeling betrayed. She was agreeing with _Donny?_ …Was that why they’d had that _look_ between them? At once he felt his anger rising back up. 

“Who’re you talkin’ to?” he heard himself ground out. Not even _he_ was sure what he meant by that question; he just knew the answer was important somehow. 

“You,” she answered, still calm and collected. She looked so damn _sure_ of herself that he wanted nothing more than to cast doubt on her assessment. 

“You think I’m scared?” he demanded. Taking a step towards her, he snapped, “Of _what?!”_

Mikey jumped to his feet, standing pointedly between Raph and Jo. From the corner of his eye, Raph saw that Leo had moved closer, too – and turned, taking a relaxed but clearly defensive stance. In a way, it felt ridiculous. 

Not only would Raphael never ever raise a hand at Jocelyn, but _Mikey_ thinking he could possibly stop Raph if he wanted to was just laughable. Mikey was almost a full half a foot shorter than him and had a fraction of his strength and skill. Raph had never lost a spar to Mikey, and for good reason. 

Still, Raphael appreciated Mikey’s fearless defense of Jocelyn. It was heartening. 

“You know what,” was his girlfriend’s quiet response. 

“Maybe I don’t,” he blurted in reaction, and for a moment he felt hysterical – what was he _doing?!_ He’d _just_ had a violent, mindless battle with his brothers, and now he was blathering on without thought at _Jocelyn?_

A part of him wanted to laugh. 

“Why don’t you tell me,” he snapped, “since you’re a big expert on _my_ fears?” 

A little voice in his head begged, _Or don’t. Don’t tell me. Don’t tell me…because that means you know, too._

Finally Jocelyn got up, slipping a hand onto Mikey’s shoulder to wordlessly let him know everything was fine. His brother didn’t back down, but he shifted a little to the side for her. 

“Me,” she answered. “You’re afraid of _me.”_

And Raphael swallowed hard. That was it. That was the truth he’d hoped she’d never discover. Yet, even so, he heard himself denying it, a part of him praying she was bluffing and didn’t actually believe it. 

Scoffing, he gestured her. “Me, afraid of _you?_ You’re like 150 pounds, just another little weak human.” 

_Shit._ He’d gone and insulted her, too?! The _hell_ was wrong with him?! He had an immediate urge to apologize – Jocelyn cut him off before it could form. 

“140,” she corrected, “and yes, _me_. But that has nothing to do with my size and everything to do with _your_ heart.” 

He backed up a step, then another, fighting an urge to run. Disbelief had taken precedence in him, because _damn it_ , she was completely right! He knew that she knew him better than anyone else by now, but he hadn’t expected for her to have figured him out so completely. 

“You’re crazy,” he heard himself say. 

She arched a brow then started following him, one step at a time. “You’re afraid of what you feel for me, afraid of what _I_ feel for _you.”_

The more she spoke, the more a kind of reactionary anger rose up in him. _Protect yourself,_ that anger seemed to say. _Make her stop._

“Like I’m some kinda pansy-ass weakling?” he snapped. His heart was already starting to ache, afraid she was going to rip him to shreds in another moment. “You’re wrong.” 

“Lie to yourself if you have to,” she returned, “but do _not_ lie to me. You’re afraid,” she went on, “that what we have isn’t going to turn out to be permanent. That I’m gonna wake up one day and say, ‘Oh, my god, what am I _doing?’_ and that’ll be the last you hear from me.” 

She needed to shut up. 

_Now_. 

“Enough!” he snapped at her, gesturing wide – hoping the sharp motion could startle her into withdrawing. It made his brothers react accordingly, all three of them jolting into a battle stance.

Jocelyn didn’t. Instead of recoiling, her back straightened. “You’re afraid of yourself, of your strength,” she continued on, undaunted. “You’re afraid one of these days you’re gonna go to give me a hug and – _crack_. Three broken ribs.” 

Point of fact, he was _terrified_ of that. Hearing her say it was even worse, too, because it meant _she_ knew it could happen as well. And now he was even more scared of what she might say next. He pivoted, intending to escape from her – venture into the sewers, maybe. 

“Don’t you walk away from me!” she snapped. “I ain’t done with you yet!” 

He scowled at her – yet, strangely, his legs stopped. For all that he desperately wanted to get away from this potential heartache, he still couldn’t make himself leave when she wanted him to stay. God, he was wrapped around her little finger…

“Ain’t done being _wrong_ yet?” he shot back, fear making his voice shake. 

The defensive maneuver was entirely too obvious. 

Ignoring that, she continued where she left off: “You’re afraid I’m gonna get hurt, that one of your multitude of enemies is gonna find out who I am and target me. You’re afraid they’ll hurt me to hurt _you_ , that I might die because of you.” 

Just hearing those words spoken aloud tore his heart apart. His defensive anger couldn’t fight against that pain, forcing his eyes to fill and his voice to brokenly answer, “Jocelyn, _stop_ …” 

“And you’re afraid that one of these days I’m going to realize all this,” she was saying now, her voice gentling. “You’re afraid I’m going to see what danger I’m in just for being with you, that it’s going to scare me off – and rightly so. Well, news flash, I _have_ realized it.” 

His breath caught in his throat. At that moment, staring down at his little human, he had to admit she was completely right: he feared _her_ the most. Not just her feelings or his own, but her insight, the way she could look inside him and see _everything_ he’d never wanted anyone to know. 

And he feared this would be it, this would be the day – the hour, the minute, the _second_ – it all ended. This was when she turned away and left him, valuing her life more than her relationship with him. 

_And rightly so,_ he thought, repeating her own words. 

But instead of turning on her heel and getting one of his brothers to take her home, she stepped right up to Raphael. Still fearless, still calm – still his little lover. 

“I know being with you comes with risks,” she told him. “I know there’s a constant chance I could get hurt, or worse. I know you’re thinking, right now, that I _should_ pack up and leave, get out while I still can – for my own safety, I _should_.” 

And. She. Was. _Right_. 

She chose then to glance around the lair, making a point, before going on, “And I’m still here. I’m still _right here_ ,” she emphasized, pointing at her feet. “D’you know why?”

He could guess, but he was afraid his guess would get shot down – and right now he was too emotionally unstable to handle that. 

“Because you’re the most important thing in my life,” she said. “It used to be dancing. I _lived_ to dance. But you’ve taken that place. And you know what? I’d never dance another step if it were a prerequisite for being with you. Now why d’you suppose that is?” 

When she remained silent, demanding an answer, he swallowed thickly. _She’s in love with you,_ a voice said. 

Still terrified he might be wrong, though, he chose a much safer response: 

“Because you’re crazy.” 

* * *

_Because you’re crazy._

In a snap, Jocelyn understood those words in a way she never had before. Raphael had been saying it often lately, had done it again just moments ago. In the last month, alone, how many times had he said it? At least once every time they met, she estimated, which was a minimum of three times a week now. 

It clicked. 

It was his roundabout way of declaring that _she_ loved _him_ , without having to say those words straight out – without having to risk being shot down. It was his safety net, his shield. 

_You’re crazy_ was his way of confirming that she was in love with him. With this perspective in place, she understood his reactions to every agreement she’d given so lightly. The grinning, the shuffling, the _joy_ – she’d been unknowingly confirming that she was in love. And, just perhaps, he hadn’t realized it, himself. 

Oh, the things he did to shield himself from the possibility of pain…

Now she gave a chuckle, looking away, thinking to herself that he really was the cutest thing. Her giant, powerful, scary mutant boyfriend was such a softie under that shell it was a wonder she hadn’t seen it before. 

“Crazy in love,” she agreed, looking back up at him. 

He visibly jolted, eyes widening. He strangled out a breathless, _“Jocelyn…”_

She lifted a hand to halt him. “You don’t need to say it back,” she assured him, knowing he would have trouble with it. “I know. I see it every time you look at me,” she said; he shifted, awkward, shrugging his massive shoulders. Ignoring that, she went on, “And it’s exactly why you couldn’t get rid of me now, even if you wanted to. I’m here to stay.” Smiling a little, she joked, “You’re stuck with me.” 

He gave a weak laugh, more a surprised exhale than anything. And, she saw, his eyes were notably wet, tears threatening. 

Honestly, she felt the same. Her eyes had started to sting when this tirade began, and now it was getting harder and harder to breathe. She’d never been in love before so she didn’t know if this was normal or not, but she could at least say that it didn’t feel wrong. 

She took a steadying breath, then went on, “And that’s why you can let go of all those fears. I’m not ever gonna leave, and I’m not gonna swap you out with a newer model. I know…I know I keep telling you to trust yourself, that I trust _you_ , but now I need you to trust _me_. Can you do that for me, baby?” 

By now he was staring at her in wonder and she wasn’t sure if her words had even reached him. Then, still in awe, he lifted a hand to her cheek, stroking her skin and her hair in one. 

He was _barely_ touching her, she noted; this was easily the gentlest touch he’d even given her. 

And that was no small feat. 

It was then that Jocelyn recalled they had an audience. Though this was perfectly fine with her – she had no shame and even less so right now – she expected Raphael would want privacy. No matter how much he loved his brothers, he still wasn’t comfortable with them knowing the depth of his feelings. 

When he murmured, “You’re crazy,” once more, she felt her gaze soften on him. 

“The craziest,” she agreed, knowing he would understand what she meant. 

He dropped his chin, grinning to himself. 

_That’s my boy,_ she thought. The shy and gruff but totally in love Raphael was her favorite thing. 

Then she lifted her hands, starting to pet his cheeks and neck again. Knowing what she did about Red-Eared Sliders, she knew that this kind of petting was a kind of mating dance or acceptance between them. That was one reason why she’d been doing it so much lately: she was trying to communicate to him, on an instinctive level, that she’d chosen him. 

For a moment his eyes slid closed and he tilted his head to accept her touch. Whatever fear and anger and regret he’d been feeling a few minutes prior, it was gone now. She’d banished it, leaving behind only the things _she_ wanted him to feel. 

She hoped the others were watching now, seeing this, and accepted the truth of it: that Jocelyn and Raphael were lost for each other…

…and that, if she and he could find love like this, so could _they_. Hope and joy should be the only things anyone was feeling right then. 

Raphael chose then to look down at her again, then leaned down to grasp her and heft her up in his arms. In this position she was practically sitting side-saddle on his forearm; it was bizarrely cute to her, pulling a pleased smile out of her. He brought his free hand back to her cheek, petting her in a way that felt very similar to how she’d pet him a moment ago. 

Admiring her from her now greater height than his own, he murmured, “You’re right…I _do_ love you.” 

A kind of strangled laugh escaped her, her eyes filling up with tears all over again. She honestly, truly hadn’t expected to hear him say the words aloud – certainly not this quickly, at least. She’d resigned herself to having to say it for both of them for the foreseeable future. 

He’d just given her the best gift he ever could’ve found, built or bought. It made her so full of emotion that she had to cover her mouth to keep from sobbing. It didn’t quite work; her next blink loosed a tear from each eye. 

Giving up on that endeavor, she leaned down and planted an admittedly sloppy kiss on his mouth – a little too uncoordinated to manage anything better at the moment. Still, he matched her clumsy press until she ducked her head down to hide in his neck. 

_Crazy in love,_ she thought to herself. She’d said it somewhat impulsively, but in retrospect she couldn’t have chosen any more fitting words.


	32. Together, Finally

**Rating:** XXX (swearing/explicit interspecies sex)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Immediately after that adorable confession (in Jocelyn’s opinion), Leo jokingly called out, “Go to your room!” in as authoritative voice as he could. Raphael, chuckling, obeyed without hesitation, carrying her the whole way. And she _might_ have given the guys a teary-faced wink over his shell as they went. (Okay, she totally did. Things were about to get _loud._ ) 

They seemed to get it. The three brothers shared a look, then turned tail and ran – metaphorically-speaking. She thought she even caught Splinter’s tail from the corner of her eye as he did the same, escaping somewhere. Whether they were trying to avoid the awkwardness of hearing orgasmic screaming or just trying to give privacy, she couldn’t guess. More than likely both, she thought. 

Raphael didn’t push for it, though, which surprised her. She expected him to lay her back and devour her one inch at a time; instead, he sat on his bed, her in his lap, and started nuzzling. 

It was _delightful_ , not to mention heartening. Just like what had happened in the subway a month prior, he kept rubbing his face into her chest. Cute as it was, however, she was a bit surprised. He was definitely working himself up; the longer it went on, the more he did it, going from little nuzzles to fully rubbing his face on her. She just didn’t know _why_ he was doing it. 

She guessed it was instinctive on his part, but she had no idea what its purpose was. None of her research into Red-Eared Sliders said anything about nuzzling, leaving her with a scant two guesses: either it was some kind of unobserved or new habit (thanks to his mutation), or it was just his way of begging for more of those face pets – a ‘Raphael’ thing. 

Either way it kind of tickled – and kind of aroused her. Every so often one of her nipples was given a thorough pass, sending tiny electric jolts through her,  and _damn_ if that didn’t feel good. After a while of this – which, to be honest, she was willing to let him continue as long as he liked – the motion pulled his bandana askew. 

He never took it off, she’d noticed. Though he seemed to really like it, she also thought he used it as a kind of armor. He used it to hide, in a way. The fact that he had an easier time taking off his shorts than his bandana, letting her see his cloaca but not his head, told her it was a _very_ deep psychological issue. 

Now, however, he grabbed the headpiece and yanked it off. She heard a little tear of cloth as it was flung aside, fluttering to the ground somewhere out of her line of sight. 

And her heart gave a sweet pulse, realizing that this was _it_ – this was the moment when everything was okay, when all barriers were knocked down. This was the moment he let her past _all_ of his shields and defenses. This was the moment he gave her _everything_. 

This was _their_ moment. 

Overwhelmed with tender emotion, she stopped his insistent nuzzles by catching his cheeks. His eyes had been closed this whole time, but now they blinked open, looking up at her. The tiniest of hesitations pinched his gaze; she could almost hear him stressing over what she thought now. 

To be perfectly honest, Jocelyn _had_ imagined this before. She’d figured his head would just have more of his typical green skin – hairless and, in a way, featureless. And she was mostly right, though she noticed he had a scar on the top of his head. It was a short little thing in a raised, pale, peach-colored line on his right side. 

She guessed that was the result of whatever had put that hole in the top of his bandana. 

She couldn’t help lifting a hand to run her finger over the line, feeling a kind of post-wound fear over what had happened to cause that cut. It was obviously nothing big, but knowing that _anything_ had gotten that close to his skull left her stressed. 

She didn’t want him hurt. 

Raphael tilted his head into her touch, telling her that he liked it. Smiling, she gave a little testing scratch – he smiled, chin lifting. Totally seduced by how cute he was in that moment, she leaned down to kiss his forehead. 

“Jocelyn,” he breathed. The way he said her name right then didn’t seem like he was trying to get her attention; if anything, it was spoken in answer to some inner debate. 

And she couldn’t stop herself from responding by ducking her head to bump his cheek with her nose – an intentionally cute action. 

He chuckled, then grabbed her tight and did a spin, drawing a squeal out of her as he laid her on her back in the middle of the bed. She giggled, even as she realized she’d just _laughed_ about practically getting tossed. 

A month ago that move would have resulted in her shivering from fear.  It was the main thing holding her back from becoming a principle dancer – she couldn’t get over her fear of being tossed by a male dancer. To date she’d never managed to jump when needed for a guy to lift her. Her legs just wouldn’t do it. 

Now, however, she trusted Raphael so much that she had almost no fear left in her – as long as his hands were on her, she was safe. It’d taken months to get here, but she was starting to _enjoy_ the rush of being involuntarily moved. 

Who knows, maybe someday she’d even like – _shudder_ – roller coasters. 

Jo didn’t get much time to think on that, though; almost immediately Raphael started kissing her, erasing her humor and replacing it with arousal. Her hands went right to his neck, giving her typical little scratches and caresses. And it was strange, not feeling the cloth of his bandana on her fingers as she did so. She was used to it being there, the ends sometimes dangling down and dancing across her skin. Armor or not, she’d never minded its presence. 

Now she hummed in approval as his lips and tongue played with hers, heat spreading through her in time with each little stroke. Then he shifted, sliding a knee under her leg and hiking it up over his. As his hand pet her naked thigh she all but purred, starting to writhe under him. She wanted more than this; she could already feel a particular quiver in her nethers. 

By now she knew he’d be able to smell it. The fact that he wasn’t reacting to it told her that he had an iron grip on his self-control. 

That was bad – the more control _he_ had, the more she felt hers slip. It was like they had a limited supply of it between the two of them, and right now he held _all_ of it. Sure, that also meant this was going to be mind-blowing for her, but a part of her still felt sad she wouldn’t be able to be topsies. 

Then she heard him murmur _I love you_ between kisses, so close she could feel his lips brushing hers with each word, and she melted into the mattress. 

She kissed him harder, then warned, “You keep that up and I’m gonna end up cryin’.” Her eyes _still_ weren’t out of the danger zone yet, and every sweet thing he did and said was only making it harder to back off from that perilous point. 

“Ah, wouldn’ wan’ tha’,” he answered, grinning. God, she found his accent so weirdly sexy, and it got worse now that he was talking so freaking low. In fact she got the impression he was doing it on purpose, the sneak. 

She’d never liked the typical New Yorker accent till _he_ came into her life. Funny how that worked. 

“Oh, quit teasing me,” she whined. 

Then he got a sly look in his eye and checked, “You askin’ me to _behave?”_

She _instantly_ recalled telling him that’d she take him ‘being naughty over nice’ any day. All at once she realized the full scope of what she was in for – and, honestly, she was hovering somewhere between excitement and regret. 

Her boyfriend was about to show her just how much he loved her…and she was starting to doubt her ability to survive it with her sanity intact. 

She started with a thread of panic, “No–” 

He cut her off, kissing her deep and thorough, and his hands started a tour of her body. She clung to him as he worked her, giving little, gasping cries every time his hands passed over a spot he _knew_ was sensitive. When her nails began digging into his skin, her need causing her to start clawing at him, he gave a deep groan against her mouth. 

_Fuck,_ that was sexy! 

“Oh, baby,” she breathed against him. 

He shifted, bringing his mouth to her neck, and started giving little bites. She couldn’t help but tilt her head to give him more room, moaning and gasping every time she felt his teeth scraping across her flesh. He’d been biting a lot lately and she understood it soothed his instinctive need to, but he was always so gentle it never hurt. 

Not that she would’ve minded if it did… 

Then his hands ventured under her top, giving her breasts little strokes and squeezes. She started writhing under him, his touch making her feel hot all over. God damn, her tits were sensitive; she was starting to get curious if it was normal or not. 

Humming in approval, he murmured against her neck, “Do you _ever_ wear bras?” 

“Not if I can help it,” she answered, breathless from his ministrations. She only owned two. It wasn’t like her pitiful size necessitated support, and, really, that was all bras were needed for. All that stigma over women’s nipples was just that: a stigma. It wasn’t like _men_ didn’t have them. 

If it was no big deal for a man’s nipples to bleed through his top, why was it a big deal for a woman? 

Besides, she loved the way Raphael reacted whenever he discovered her breasts were unbound. It was an instant turn-on for him – which, let’s be honest, was an instant turn-on for _her_. His lust, alone, could get her going, just like hers so easily sparked his in return. They fit like that. 

He aroused her, she aroused him; what did species matter against that? 

Now he shifted, pushing himself up. His hands shoved her shirt up over her breasts, baring them to the open air, and she caught a deep, hungry look on his face before he dropped his mouth to them. She was so needy that she felt the pleasure of it before his lips had even made contact – and once they did she gave a sharp cry, jolting. 

By now he knew her so well she was shuddering in _moments_. Between his hot tongue, firm lips and teasing fingers, he had her back arching off the bed in search for more. _Twice_ now he’d managed to make her climax from this act, alone, and she was starting to get the impression he intended to do it again. 

God, he made her so hot, so needy. She’d all but forgotten that the ultimate goal of this interlude was to close that final gap between them, to take him inside her at long last. All she could think about anymore was how good he made her feel and how much she ached to do the same for him. 

Her fingers scratched at his neck and shoulders and shell as he worked her, sending her arousal so high she could feel she’d already wet her panties every time she shifted her hips. But as much as she loved his affections, she was getting antsy to take some control back for herself. 

Hooking her leg around his, she started rubbing her heel against him, aiming for his inner thigh cause she knew how sensitive he was there. He jerked and hissed in a breath; she used the heel of her boot to try and reach even higher. 

His hand seized her thigh, the grip tighter than he would usually allow, stopping her motions. When he lifted his head to catch her gaze, she saw a warning in his green eyes. 

She grinned, shameless. 

“Uh-uh,” he told her, “this time, I’m in control.” 

That sounded like a challenge. “Fight you for it,” she returned. 

At once, heat suffused his gaze. Jocelyn could tell that one comment had _instantly_ gotten all his engines revving. 

_Good_. 

She pushed herself up as he dove back down, meeting in the middle with a desperate kind of kiss as their hands mutually went to work. Her fingers released the clasp on his harness; he shrugged it off one arm at a time, never giving her room to breathe. He shoved her skirt up around her hips, then slipped a hand down to start stroking her though her panties. She jolted as delicious sensation ricocheted through her. 

And when he sucked in a breath she knew he’d felt just how wet she was. 

Her head was starting to spin from the intense kiss, and paired with his caresses she knew she was going to lose it if she didn’t act first. Drawing up a leg, she hooked her foot under his thigh – his center of balance – and, hands on his shoulder, shoved him over with hands and foot. As he rolled over the way he’d been leaning, she followed him over, straddling him, and caught his look of surprise before it darkened back to lust again. 

She’d bet she’d just impressed him.  

As she tossed him a grin she pulled off her shirt and necklace in one, flinging it somewhere behind her. Something clattered; she didn’t care, didn’t spare it so much as a glance. She just ducked back down to suck at his lips, her mass of curls spilling over her shoulders and hiding them both under a curtain of hair. His hands, rather predictably, went right to her ass and began caressing. 

God, that felt good. 

She couldn’t help shifting and quivering as he worked her, moaning into his mouth in approval. Then, to her surprise, he hooked a finger around the crotch of her panties, pulling them aside – and started easing a finger inside her. It made her jolt, caught off guard by just how quickly he’d gone from zero to sixty. But, then, she’d kind of wanted this. 

Just a few thrusts from that thick digit and she was lost, forgetting what her plan had been. Her attempts at kissing just…stopped, all of her focus now on the finger delving inside her. And the son of a bitch had grown exponentially more talented in the last month, to boot; he’d figured out where her g-spot was and knew how to work it. 

He did so now, curling his finger in the right way to get her shaky and mindless. In no time she’d collapsed on him, pleasure becoming all that she knew. He didn’t keep it up long, though; as soon as the proverbial ball was back in his court, he flipped them back over. Once she was on her back again, he grinned at her from above. 

Sexy fucking bastard. 

As he thrust and stroked and curled that finger inside her, he commented, “I got you.” 

Fuck, _yes,_ he did! 

As much as she wanted more than just a fingering (to be fair, he was _great_ at it – she just wanted more of him than that), this was feeling so good she couldn’t bear to stop it. 

“Oh, gimme more, baby,” she breathed, starting to undulate to him. 

Lust and determination bled together in his gaze as he started to duck down, bringing his mouth between her legs. Just watching him descend to her cunt could have made her climax – with his finger still working her, she knew it wouldn’t be long. Already she felt like she was burning up from the inside out, pleasure blossoming from her core throughout her body and back in waves. 

Then his tongue laved at her, giving a _lovely_ stroke that sent sparks shooting through her, and closed his lips around that tiny bundle of nerves. Between his talented mouth and index finger, she soon forgot how to breathe. 

Strangled gasps and broken cries were all she could manage, her body giving constant involuntary jolts and jerks. It was too much, not enough; good and bad and perfect and torturous; everything she needed but couldn’t handle. 

As if he’d heard her thoughts and decided it was a challenge, she felt him work in his second finger – and she was so wet by now he had little trouble with it. Her walls, though slick, strained to take on this much intrusion…yet the twinges of pain she felt were nothing but a blip on her awareness, easily ignored. His fingers were quickly working in tandem, stroking and delving in unison and sending a whole new level of pleasure through her. 

_“Fuck!!”_ she heard herself scream, the pressure inside her growing too strong to take. _I’m gonna die,_ she thought – just before she came for him. Her eyes rolled back as the orgasm took her, the pleasure so powerful and complete it had her body convulsing and shuddering; she squirted as she gave a strangled scream. Raphael, the incredible lover that he was, just sucked at her clit harder and stroked her from within more vigorously. 

It wasn’t until she realized her ears were ringing that she noticed he _wasn’t stopping_ – that although her squirting had ceased, the pleasure wasn’t letting up. More and more just kept crashing over her, keeping her heart pounding and her breathing uneven. 

She wanted to beg him to stop, to let her come back down, but she couldn’t remember how to speak. Desperate for relief but clumsy and uncoordinated, she pushed at him, needing for him to finish. He was clearly reluctant to do it, but her insistent (and, truthfully, _pitiful_ ) shoves finally made him stop. _Thank god._

He drew his head back – and she saw him pull _both_ fingers from her pussy, the pair of them totally coated in her lubricant. It was hard to believe that both of them had been inside her just now. The part of her mind still capable of making calculations commented that _oh, yes,_ after _that_ she could damn well take his cock. 

….Once she caught her breath. 

As the shudders began fading at last, she took a deep lungful of air, letting it out again with a deep moan. “….Jesus….fucking….Christ,” she forced out between heavy pants. The debilitating pleasure was gone at last, leaving behind quiet hums of satisfaction and a quivering body. 

Raphael moved over her as she recovered, nuzzling into her neck. When he dragged his teeth over her skin in a gentle, affectionate bite, she groaned. She was dizzy and her legs were still quaking, but she honestly couldn’t regret a thing. 

“….I can’t feel my toes,” she slurred a few moments later. 

He chuckled, then nuzzled into her cheek. “My bad.” 

“Your good,” she corrected. 

He grinned then, a hand on her chin bringing her face around to him so he could kiss her. It was a slow, sweet thing. A promise. After the earth-shattering orgasm he’d just given her, she felt it all the more clearly. _I love you more than life itself,_ that kiss said. 

It made her belly quiver with emotion…and made her desperate for more. 

“I wanna suck you off,” she murmured against him. 

He inhaled sharply, the idea obviously tempting him. “Not this time,” he replied. 

She whined. She could already taste his delicious cock, his addictive cum; she wanted it. 

“I don’t wanna come yet,” he told her. Then, bringing his lips down to her ear, he whispered, “Not till I’m inside you.” 

_Fuck yes!  
_

She seized his face and kissed him with renewed vigor, his comment getting her _instantly_ ready for another round. Her legs even tried to wrap around him, to pull him against her. He resisted, pulling back and breaking the kiss as he went. Once he was sitting back on his knees, he looked her over. 

The desire on his face made her so hot she could have caught fire. She wasn’t totally naked, but she _was_ disheveled, her clothing dislodged. He clearly liked it. 

Then he got up and started shedding off every little thing he still wore – his shorts, yes, and watching those trews drop to reveal a rock-hard erection made her pussy quiver with lust, but he also tossed off everything he never had before. The shin guards, the gloves, the elbow and shoulder pads; all of it. 

For a moment she was caught up watching that strip tease, but when he reached the end she realized she was still fully dressed from the waist down. She sat up and went for her boots – he beat her to it, pushing her hands away so he could do it, instead. She reclined on her elbows, happy to let him. And there was something incredibly sexy about the way he oh-so-slowly pulled down the zipper of her boots, one by one, and divested her of them. 

Like he was savoring every little thing. It made her all the hotter, constantly more desperate for him. 

Her leggings were next, and he ran his lips over her skin as he pulled them down. He ended each removal with a kiss at her ankle, the gesture so sweet it made her heart swell with emotion. Then he moved up closer and laid her back for him. Her skirt was next – though it took him a moment to realize the button at the front of her skirt was just a decoration. The actual fasteners were a trio of buttons on each hip. 

The way he’d gone from wanting to confused had been so cute, she’d opted not to inform him of anything. Once he discovered the trick and slipped open the buttons, he was giving a lopsided grin, amused. 

“You coulda told me,” he chided her. 

“Coulda,” Jocelyn agreed, “but didn’t wanna.” 

He gave her a devious look – promising wicked things – so she gave him one right back. Then, fisting both the waistbands of her skirt and panties, he yanked them up; she brought her legs together to let him. The moment he tossed them out of sight she let her legs fall open, beckoning him. 

Her lover dropped down to his elbows, catching her mouth in another kiss. But when she reached for his cock, stroking it with both hands in invitation, he hesitated. 

“….You’ll tell me if it hurts,” he said – not a question. An order. 

There was still fear in his eyes, she saw. “Raphael,” she sighed. She loved him. He loved her. They were both ready for this. 

The fact that he still held back, still worried, told her exactly how much he cared for her. It was heartening, yes, but she was so tired of waiting. 

“Lay back,” she told him. 

Confusion crossed his features. “Jocelyn?” he prompted. 

“Lay back for me,” she repeated, giving him a little push. When he did so, she moved to straddle him, holding his cock against her belly. “Do you one better,” she clarified. “If it hurts, I stop.” 

He got it. Raphael gave her a sharp nod, shifting until he was exactly how he wanted to be. Then, hands on her hips, he waited for her to make the next move. 

This was _immediately_ harder than she’d anticipated. Getting the height she needed made her kneel on his hips. It didn’t seem to bother him; rather, he clearly liked it. He wet his lips as he watched her position herself, his hands starting to absently pet her. 

When she went to lower herself, though, she found the slant of his penis made things even harder. She ended up keeping him steady with one hand while her other spread her as open as she could manage, helping things along as best she could. And she was _so_ grateful when it worked, feeling him starting to fill her up as she began descending. In the future, she figured from behind would work better. 

Raphael sucked in a breath as she lowered, eyes riveted to where their bodies joined. It took some careful shifting on her part to figure out the right angle she needed; once she did, though, that teardrop-shaped head slipped inside _easily_. 

She gave a sharp cry, pleasure shooting through her, as that first inch was conquered. 

Her lover was caught between rapture and worry; he gasped out, “Jocelyn, a-are you…?”

“Mm,” she hummed, shaking her head. “That was a good sound…it feels good.” 

Rotating her hips, she went back at it, working him inside little by little. His fingers flexed on her with every tiny increment, telegraphing to her how much pleasure _he_ was feeling as well. It didn’t take long for her to have enough of him inside her that she didn’t need to hold him still anymore. 

And it felt so. Damn. _Good._

Her assessment had been right: after taking both of his fingers at once, this was a breeze. She started shifting and thrusting, her pussy swallowing him up with ease. It made her feel dizzy all over again – luckily she was a ballerina and was trained to handle that… 

It didn’t take long before she felt him hit as deep as he could, a delicious jolt going through her as his cock reached the back of her womanhood. For a moment she kept her weight where it was, a hand venturing down to judge how much of him she _hadn’t_ been able to take. Only three fingers’ width? 

Wow. She was impressed with herself. 

Then Jocelyn looked up at him and saw that Raphael looked like he was in _agony_. His fingers were still doing that twitching thing on her hips, desperate to act; denying himself was clearly costing him dearly. 

A little breathless, she quipped, “Hard part’s over.” 

His groan told her that, on his side of things, the hard part was just getting started. 

Grasping his wrists and thanking her twelve years of ballet for giving her such strong legs, she pushed herself back up to her knees – _fuck_ that felt good, his slick cock making her shudder as it withdrew from her confines – and then dropped down again. A withering cry tore from her lips, his girth and length together filling her just perfectly. The only downside was the knowledge that she couldn’t take _all_ of him. 

But it was still such a tight fit that she felt every little pulse and twitch from his terrapin penis. Her nails were already digging into his hands, the pleasure too great for her to control it. If she didn’t know any better she’d think she’d already climaxed from just that first true stroke. 

And that thought made her ravenous to come. 

Snagging his gaze – god, he looked so lost, so needy – she hissed, “Help me.” 

Startled, his eyes lifted to hers. “Help…? How?” he demanded, and she heard the strain in those two words. 

He was fighting himself. _Fuck_ , that made her even hotter. 

Hands on his, she guided him – as she rose, she pulled; as she fell, she pushed. He got it right away, helping her start to fuck him like she wanted. At first she was careful, making sure she could take going faster without any pain. 

The moment she was sure she could, she tossed caution to the wind. She started riding him like a wild beast, bouncing on him as best she could and crying out with every delve of that hard cock into her depths. Her own juices made the glide so easy she almost lamented it; surely a bit more friction wouldn’t have hurt…? 

And it felt _phenomenal_. Her cunt had never felt so good, so full, so sensitive; her nipples had never been this hard; she’d never screamed this loudly or with such abandon. Her head fell back, her head swimming and mouth hanging open. One hand abandoned his to settle on her belly; she could feel him thrusting inside her from the _outside_. 

Fuck! 

Raphael’s hands were steadily tightening on her, convincing her even within all this mind-numbing pleasure that she wasn’t getting out of this without another ring of bruises. 

She was okay with that. 

Then, quite suddenly, she realized her bounces were smacking their hips together with no gaps. That meant she’d been so lost in pleasure that she’d missed _two_ things: firstly, her legs had shifted, bringing her knees to the mattress; secondly, she was now taking _all of him_. 

No way… 

Her hand ventured down between them in the midst of their fucking, needing to confirm it – her hand covered her pussy, fingers spread around his cock, and her next drop sealed her digits between their bodies. 

Just like that, she was lost. This was too much. She was fucking the man she loved, and despite his fucking huge cock, she was taking every last inch of him. 

Her cunt seized on him, rapture coursing through her so strong it closed her throat – she could neither breathe nor speak – and made all her muscles tense to rocks. For a second all she could feel was a dizzying amount of pleasure as it exploded from within her. She could _swear_ she was seeing stars. 

Raphael gave a loud, bestial shout, his hips lifting to hers and his hands holding her flush against him. A wholly different kind of heat suffused her – _his_ heat. His cock had started giving incredibly strong pulses inside her, and each one preluded another shot of that warmth. 

And then she went crazy, her hips shoving against him in a manic need for more. Her back arched so far she just fell back, her legs shifting as she fell to keep up her desperate bucking. Her lover’s hands quickly followed suit, helping her furious thrusting against him. She was _pretty_ sure she squirted all over him, but she was far too lost to be certain of that. Alas, she could only keep this up for so long before her pussy started growing too sensitive. 

Her body went limp, thighs snapping together; he yanked her closer, keeping their connection as tight as it could be in such an awkward position. 

By now her body was quaking, her lungs heaving for breath, her pulse hammering so hard she could feel it in her damn _eyelids_. A kind of numbness went through her, going from feet to head in a wave – it faded quickly, though, and as it left her she _clearly_ felt the cock inside her was still giving faint pulses. 

Then his hands released her and she fell the short distance to the bed, his cock popping free of her confines. She couldn’t help a last gasping cry as it left her, the sensation almost too much for her post-orgasmic body. 

She absently reached up, grasping his still-relaxing member just as it started receding. Giving a displeased whine, she watched as it left her fingers – then smiled as she saw how slick, shiny, and cum-coated it was. The worst part was that she hadn’t been able to suck it clean; she made a mental note to figure out how to do it later. 

As they both recovered Raphael started petting her thighs. She hummed, pleased with the affection. 

Then she heard him murmur, voice thick with wonder, “I did it.” 

She had a hundred guesses what he meant by that, but at this point she had no idea which – if any – were right. She ventured, “Did what, baby?” 

There was a pause, and then he said, “I came inside the woman I love.” 

God, she could _hear_ him grinning. 

“Mmmm,” she hummed. “It’d better not have been a one-off.” 

At once, he sat up, bringing a hand to her cheek to hold her gaze steady on him. He looked so intense, so serious, it had her breath catching. 

And he swore, “I’m gonna have you so full’a my cum there won’t be room for anything else.” 

_Fuck. Yes._


	33. Just Once More

**Rating:** XXX (swearing/explicit interspecies sex)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Jocelyn. Was. _Amazing._ How many times had he thought those words, now? A dozen? A hundred? A thousand? Every single time had been an understatement – until now. 

Over the last few months, Raphael had envisioned sex with her a thousand times. Sometimes they were just masturbation fantasies, but sometimes they’d been plans – how best to handle his strength, what he should or shouldn’t do, what Jocelyn would like best, and so on.

He’d never imagined her on top. Now he realized how stupid that’d been of him; between the two of them, _she_ was the one with experience in this field. Giving her control, letting _her_ decide how they proceeded, was obviously the smartest course of action. It even worked with the fact that he didn’t know how _he_ was going to respond, but Jocelyn knew how _she_ would.

The position had allowed him to sit still, maintaining control of his hips. It hadn’t been easy…not by a long shot…but he’d done it. And the result had been _mind-blowing_.

He’d known even before it’d started that the pleasure was going to end up being crippling. If anything, he’d underestimated it.

Watching her bounce on him – seeing her body somehow able to take all of his – was a sight he was never going to be able to forget. No more fantasizing; anytime he masturbated in the future, _that_ was going to be what he recalled. Tie that image with the pleasure of her walls accepting him, how she clamped down tight _every single time_ she’d descended, and he had a lifetime’s supply of wank material at his beck and call.

Everything had been incredible, from her orgasmic screams to her hands gripping his to her curls bouncing with every move, but in the aftermath he realized his favorite part had just been watching her.

She’d totally lost it. By now he was well aware of how lustful she was, how demanding a sex life with her was going to be – he still hadn’t foreseen her absolute abandonment. She’d gone crazy, though he doubted she’d been aware of it; her hands had never ceased moving, touching her breasts and lips in between hanging onto him.

And she’d come on him _hard_. He knew she was a squirter – had researched female anatomy in the dead of night many times, going deeper and deeper down that rabbit hole until he’d found everything he could on the subject – but _fuck_ , she’d never come like _that_ before. Rivulets of her female ejaculate were running down his plastron and sides, and he found he _really_ liked that.

He’d need to wash his sheets when they were done here, he mused. He was okay with that.

And, _fuck_ , coming inside her? His mind had gone totally blank, lost to pleasure; his body had undergone an intense battle, control against desire. His instincts wanted to pound into her until he was too exhausted to continue, but luckily muscle memory stopped that. His muscles had clamped down tight, holding him in place…and maybe that had made it even better.

Because the lack of motion on his part meant he could feel, with excruciating detail, every little movement on _her_ part. The way her walls had clenched and milked him, her body wildly thrusting in blatant need for more, was now firmly cemented in his top five memories. He’d absently done what he could to help her, moving her hips against him as if he were masturbating _with her body_ , and god damn if that wasn’t another turn-on.

Maybe later, once he trusted himself a bit more, she’d let him do it again – the whole time. Imagining it, lying there while he bounced her on him the way _he_ wanted it with her just along for the ride, would’ve made his dick hard if it hadn’t just gone soft.

She’d love it, he knew. But then, Jocelyn always loved their trysts. It didn’t matter what he did; it aroused her, pleased her, made her come…she was his sexy little wanton ballerina, lusty as all fuck, and god damn if that didn’t make him love her even more.

Now that he’d felt what it’s like to be inside her, though, he wanted more of it. ‘Addicted’ – yeah, he was already there. From now on the hardest part was going to be resisting doing it _all the time_.

For tonight, however…tonight, he could indulge all he liked.

He pulled Jocelyn up and into his arms, her body mostly limp from how boneless her orgasm had left her. She giggled as he lifted her, though, grinning wide, and it gave him confidence that he could totally have another round. His dick wasn’t ready to go yet, though – not that he minded. That just meant he could go back to square one…which, in this particular arena, was his favorite place.

He shifted, laying her back on the pillows, then brought his mouth to her neck. He could freaking _smell_ her satisfaction, and it made him shiver.

“You got me,” he murmured, flipping around his usual statement of _I got you_.

Jocelyn gave a pleased hum, one hand lifting to his neck to pet and scratch at him. “You’re a dream,” she said.

He grinned huge, her words hitting him right in the heart. God, he was _so_ in love with this woman. Catching her hands, he brought them up above her head, placing them where he wanted them. Then he licked, catching a few little drops of sweat off her neck and groaning as the flavor hit him.

She responded beautifully, arching her back to him and humming as she tilted her head aside – but keeping her hands where he’d put them. Something twisted in his stomach, her reactions pleasing the hell out of him. It was such a little thing, a blip of a moment, but it got him. _Hard._

Shifting, he started to shuffle down a bit, running his lips over her skin as he went. He paused at her chest, kissing above her heart. And, right then, he found himself getting distracted. Her heat and her scent – which he was starting to think of as ‘spicy and sweet’ – was so strong here, _proving_ to his constantly semi-doubtful mind that this was real. _She_ was real.

Everything he’d thought had just happened _had_. He didn’t think he was ever going to get over that.

Then he pushed himself up, looking down at her, and the smart comment starting to form in his throat was cut off. She blinked lazy, satisfied green eyes at him, her cheeks and neck so flushed from exertion she looked more red than tan. Her blonde curls made a mass of vibrant color against his pillows, her body complimented by the red shade of his sheets.

 _He_ was a dream? No – _she_ was the dream.

Raphael was drawn in, unable to resist bringing his lips to hers again. When she went to touch him, though, lifting her hands, he quickly caught them and put them right back. She gave a displeased hum against his mouth; he sucked at her bottom lip.

Placated, she murmured, “You better have a good reason for pinning me down like this.”

Oh, he did.

“Can’t have ya distractin’ me,” he told her, smirking. “I got a job t’do.”

Intrigued, she watched as he started sliding down her body, dropping kisses here and there and lapping up her sweat as he went. His hands went on ahead to her thighs, petting her soft skin – then pushing them apart. He saw her eyes grow more curious, a hint of doubt there. She didn’t know what to expect, he could tell.

Well, first, he just wanted to _see_. Shameless Jocelyn just smiled as he dropped his gaze to her folds, running his thumb over her flesh. Fuck, she was so soft, so tender, here – it always left him feeling like a brute for the intense way he was with her. Lucky for him, then, that she clearly loved his techniques.

Now, as he looked, he could see his cum already starting to drip from her. It was a hell of a lewd sight – and he _loved_ it. Unable to stop himself, he slipped a finger inside her and back out. The motion loosed a little river, the creamy white liquid stark against her dark skin. It had him biting his lip, heat coiling through him.

That was _his_ mark, the evidence of _him_ inside _her_.

He lifted his eyes to hers, caught her licking and biting her own lips. He’d bet money she’d want to see it, too. Maybe later he’d get his to phone take some pictures or videos for her…

Wrapping a hand around her thigh, he brought his lips to her skin, kissing. He was looking, seeking the right spot –

Jocelyn jolted, giving a soft cry.

_Found it._

Focusing on this particular spot, he started sucking. His lover began jolting and jerking harder, whimpering. _Fuck_ , that was sexy. He licked; she hissed. He bit; she cried out. He memorized this spot, measuring by how close he was to her core (his cheek could feel her warmth) and the muscles he could feel under his lips.

He would _definitely_ be coming back here every time his new mark faded to make a new one.

Then, just as he was thinking he should stop and see how dark of a bruise he’d left, he heard her scream. Alarmed, he lifted his head to check on her –

She was coming, he realized. Jocelyn’s body was shivering and convulsing, and after a moment she hummed in a way he recognized. That was her “ _damn_ that was a good orgasm” sound.

Well, that was unexpected – but appreciated. Looking back down at her thigh, watching as his new mark slowly started to show, he dropped his head once more to give it a lick. A tiny jolt went through her.

He made a little note that this spot was a _great_ place to torment – er, _pleasure_ – her for the future. It hadn’t even taken very long to wring a climax out of her. Considering that wasn’t even his goal, it told him she’d either been _that_ turned on…or it really was that sensitive of a place.

He’d have to test it again.

For now, though, he found he liked the look of that bruise a little too much. So he did what any good boyfriend would: he swapped to her other thigh and started over again. The moment he found another sensitive spot, she whimpered.

“ _Fuck_ , baby,” she whined. “I can’t take this…”

Hell, yeah, she could. He aimed to prove it.

By the time Raphael finally stopped seeking new places to give her hickies, he could confidently say at least a half hour had passed. Jocelyn was a quivering mess, presently holding handfuls of her own hair in front of her face. She had _eight_ little bruises: four on her thighs, three on her breasts, and one right above her left hip.  She also had a ring of bruises around her hips – again – but it didn’t hurt him like it had the first time.

Little by little, she’d shown him that she _liked_ the marks. He wasn’t about to let his strength go out of control, but her acceptance had eased his guilt about giving her wounds.

Now he saw the marks with a new perspective. Those handprints meant she was _his_ , that she loved him and his strength, that they’d shared something incredible. It’d been hard to think badly of them since the first time he’d caught her admiring them in her bathroom mirror; after today he suspected she’d wear them like a badge of pride.

That was going to go _straight_ to his head.

Finally having caught her breath, Jocelyn relaxed into the bed at last, letting go of her hair. “Jesus, baby,” she complained, “I’m gonna need a safeword.”

Chuckling, he leaned over her, nuzzling into her neck. “I vote ‘Leonardo’.” Honestly, he wanted this conversation over – his cock was ready to go another round and he was eager to get to it.

She snorted and started cackling. Then, sobering, she said, “No, that won’t work…I might say it cause I’m thinking of him.”

In a snap, Raph’s good mood iced over. He shoved himself up, glaring down at her. “You take that back!” he snapped. He knew she was joking – she and Leo barely even _liked_ each other; there was no way she’d envision Leo that way – but she’d just spiked the hell out of his jealousy.

If she didn’t take it back, he was….he didn’t even know what he was going to do.

The little vixen just smirked at him, quipping, “Make me.”

Now she’d done it.

He jerked back from her, seized her by the legs and flipped her over. Jocelyn rolled with a surprised yelp – realizing a little too late how serious he was. She got her hands under her, starting to rise; he caught them and pushed them apart, dropping her back down to her chest. With his body over hers, she had nowhere to go.

He held both her wrists in one hand, the other brushing her hair aside. As he dropped his mouth to her neck, dragging his teeth over her skin in a warning bite, she ventured, “Baby…?”

“Take it back,” he growled, punctuating the order with a little nip to her ear.

She jolted. “Now why would I do that,” she began, breathless, “when all you’re doing is making me feel good?” 

“I won’t be for long,” he promised her.

Breath catching, she glanced at him over her shoulder, hesitant. They both knew he’d never hurt her – but he had other ways of punishing her.

Running a finger along her spine – it had her shivering – he warned, “Last chance.”

A hungry look crossed her features. “Make me,” she repeated.

Very well.

Releasing her hands, he pushed back, trailing his fingers along her back to her rear, then back up again. Then one hand grasped her shoulder, holding her in place. He brought his mouth to the back of her neck, kissing along her spine. He moved down as he went, making sure every individual vertebrae got his attention.

He’d learned long ago that her spine was another of her sweet spots, especially one little spot just to the left of it past the midway dip. But he’d never used his mouth on her back before, so he was partly curious how she would respond.

More than anything else, right then all he wanted to do was delve inside her again – he imagined lifting her hips just a few inches and taking her that way, and it got his blood heating – but first he needed her to give in, to apologize for riling him. To that end he’d keep up this torment as long as he had to.

When his lips touched that left-side spot she jerked and moaned, back dipping and arching in turn. With his hand still on her shoulder she couldn’t go anywhere, but damn if she wasn’t starting to writhe. He brought his free hand to her thigh, keeping her pinned down. And then he licked, expecting a stronger response.

He got it; she cried out, then practically growled, gripping the pillow tight. This spot was _so_ getting a hickey later, he decided. He couldn’t believe his luck right then – her body was so incredibly sensitive, it was as if he could pet or kiss her anywhere and it’d get her riled in a heartbeat. In a way, he counted Jocelyn as his reward for his years of service and the solitude he’d suffered therein. Yet, at the same time, she was _far_ too good for that. 

He hadn’t truly _earned_ her. But that didn’t matter anymore – she was his, he was hers, they were in love…and he was _never_ giving her up. Thinking those words made him all the more ravenous for her.

“This ends when you take it back,” he told her, giving a tiny suck to that sweet spot.

“N-noted,” she gasped.

Damn, she wasn’t going to give in, was she? Maybe lavishing her with pleasure wasn’t the best technique, then – but his only other idea was just too cruel. Arousing her just to leave her cold, teasing her and denying her, making her quiver and beg but refusing to let her come…

The idea was tempting, yes, but he couldn’t be that way with her. If she looked up at him with tears in her eyes, begging ‘please’, he would just end up feeling bad. Though, on the other hand…she would _totally_ do that to _him_.

Maybe roundabout was fair play, after all…

It ends whenever she wants, he told himself. Decided, he brought his mouth back to her soft skin, continuing his trail down her spine. She whimpered as he went, hips shifting, seeking; his grips tightened on her, keeping her in place. And then he reached her gorgeous ass and couldn’t resist giving kisses to _this_ part of her, too.

As he kissed across one cheek and then the other, she cried out and fought to move – whether she was trying to get closer or escape, he couldn’t guess. She was writhing too much to give him a solid hint (and, yes, that was a _hell_ of a turn-on).

“Ah, baby, that’s–!” she bit out.

He nipped; she shrieked. Her hand flew back, reaching for him, and he caught it, pressing her palm to the mattress.

When he did it again, giving another gentle bite, she yelled, “I take it back!”

Well…darn. He’d just started having fun. But rules were rules, and he’d promised to stop when she gave in.

Releasing her, he pushed himself up, commenting, “Couldn’ta held out any longer?”

She was sitting up and glaring at him in a second. Slapping his arm, she snapped, “You bit me in the ass!”

“Twice,” he agreed, grinning.

Covering her face, she started giggling. “Oh, my god,” she complained.

He caught her by the hips, pulling her back down so he could lower himself on top of her, saying, “Get used t’it. I’m gonna be doing it a lot more.”

She gasped when he pulled her, the move surprising her. Once she was on her back she gave him an incredulous look. “Seriously?” she demanded. “You’re gonna keep biting my _ass?”  
_

Grinning, he slipped a hand down to her rear and gave it a squeeze; she jolted. “I’m gonna bite’cha _everywhere_ ,” he corrected. Then, challenging her, he added, “Go on – tell me ya don’t want it.”

Hesitating, she licked and then bit her bottom lip. Silent. He couldn’t help leaning down, catching that thick lip between his teeth – giving it a little bite, just as he’d promised.

Humming, she quipped, “You’re _such_ a bad boy.”

“ _You’re_ such a bad girl,” he returned, moving his mouth to her neck again. He hadn’t given her a hickey here yet, and wasn’t that just a travesty? He started working at it, sucking and nipping her smooth skin. She sucked in a sharp breath, tilting her head to give him more access.

Her arousal was getting stronger, his teasing having done its job. As he worked on her newest mark, he slid a hand down between her legs, stroking with his fingers. He found her slick as all hell – ‘still’ or ‘again’, he didn’t know, but either way she was ready for round two. Still, he carefully eased a finger inside her, making sure; her hips lifted to beckon him, a strangled moan escaping her throat.

She was hot and so wet he could barely feel anything. _Definitely_ ready for round two, he agreed with himself. He was still a little hesitant, not wanting to mess up or go too hard, but he was also _really_ freaking hard. And Jocelyn…

Jocelyn was moaning for him, everything about her inviting him.

Moving his head back up, he left the new hickey be and caught her lips, instead. As he kissed her, he moved her arms to circle his neck, then pulled her thighs over his hips. Her legs were spread wide to accommodate his width, and damn if that didn’t make him all the harder.

He guided himself in slowly, discovering as he went that it wasn’t much easier for him than it’d been for her. This part was going to take practice – which, honestly, he was _fully_ willing to do. He’d practice the _fuck_ out of penetrating her, every damn day if she’d let him.

Raphael was careful as he delved inside her, though, making sure she could take him without trouble. Just because they’d done this a little while ago didn’t mean he was just going to shove right in _now_. And, _fuck,_ she felt incredible, her walls hot and slick and massaging him as he breached her, with her moaning into his mouth the entire time. He had to break the kiss to groan, pressing his face into her blonde curls. As soon as he’d withdrawn, her cries upped in volume, making him shudder from how damn pleased she sounded.

His hips were _demanding_ to thrust hard, but this he denied. He moved slowly, gently, focusing on how her body felt under and around him. Her legs tensed with every dive inside, pulling; her nails scratched at him seemingly at random; her hips lifted to accept him with each intrusion. And always her walls were telegraphing her pleasure, tensing and clenching and quivering around him – informing him what she liked best.

It didn’t take long for his control to start ebbing away. Now that _he_ was the one doing the moving, the one thrusting, his instincts were clamoring inside him. He didn’t just want to make love slow and sweet – he wanted to hammer at her, pounding so hard she became a permanent part of his bed. He knew he couldn’t let that happen…who knows how badly he’d hurt her if he let himself go…but damn if he wasn’t having a hard time fighting off the impulses.

Despite his constant war against himself, his thrusts _were_ getting stronger and sharper. Little by little, he was losing it. And Jocelyn, his little lover, was offering _no_ resistance – the traitor. This was when he needed _her_ to maintain control over _him_ , and instead, she was just gasping and hanging onto him, her body undulating against him.

There was no stopping it, then. He bit out, “Hold on tight,” and her eyes fluttered open to regard him with hungry intrigue.

He braced his elbows; she hooked her arms under his, gripping his shoulders. As soon as her legs were wrapped around his thighs, he let go.

His first hard thrust tore a yell from him, the pleasure going straight to his head, leaving him feeling lightheaded. Jocelyn made an almost identical scream, her hips convulsing against him – and then all hell broke loose. He started pounding away at her, each dive steadily erasing all thought. He became a creature of need, and judging by his lover’s cries, so had she.

Every second that passed only made him want more. He kept upping his speed; her walls were so slick it hardly made a difference. The crude sounds and smells of sex filled his room, the pair of them utterly lost to their desires.

Needing more, he shifted, bringing a forearm above her head while his opposite arm circled her hips. Bracing his knees, he held her where he wanted her as he hammered into her – each scream she gave was punctuated by a sinful _slap_ as their bodies met.

Soon her hands abandoned his shoulders to grip his arm above her head instead, fingers biting into him. And though he recognized she was coming, her body shuddering and walls convulsing around him, it didn’t affect him – he still needed more. As she screamed and squirted and shook under him, he kept going. Shuddering, himself, he basked in the amazing feeling of her orgasm, but…

It still wasn’t enough.

Tilting her hips up towards him, he started pounding her into the mattress, and _this_ was doing the trick. It made him feel like he was really hitting the back of her pussy, the resistance making pleasure shoot through him with every dive. It was exactly what he’d needed to finish him; just a handful of thrusts like this threw him over the edge.

He shouted as he came, unable to stop convulsive thrusting in time with each pulse of his cock. When the haze finally started lifting, giving his head a shake to clear it, he looked down at his lover.

Jocelyn looked dazed, one hand trailing over her lips, her skin an even more vibrant red than it’d been the first time. God, she was _gorgeous_. Every exhale was a whimpering moan, her body quivering – her legs, in particular, were _quaking_.

Raphael was still giving slow, gentle thrusts, though his orgasm had already ended. He couldn’t help it; it felt so damn good. His hips kept grinding and shifting, unwilling to end this pleasure. They were both panting for breath, chests heaving, and it wrought a satisfied grin from him.

Now he looked down further, eyes snagging on the _beautiful_ sight of their joined bodies. He grinned to see a notable trail of his cum leaking out, slowly making its way towards her navel. Every little lingering dive inside her forced out another drop, and for a few moments he just thrust and watched as it slid down her skin.

It took a few more moments before he realized something incredible: his penis wasn’t receding. His mind was still muddied from his climax, still lost to the afterglow of his second orgasm of the day, but enough of his brain remained functional for him to try and figure this out.

It was the thrusting, he thought. As long as he kept moving, kept fucking, he could stay hard – stay _ready_. This was the trick he’d been hoping to find, the thing that let him override his normal post-orgasmic end. This was what was going to let him stay hard as long as _he_ wanted.

…Well, provided he could handle the sensitivity, anyway. Every tiny movement caused a little quiver to go through him, his dick feeling far too much. But, honestly, he liked it – thrusting with his overwhelmed cock felt damn good, too, making his body keep on shuddering. 

He didn’t stop.

* * *

Good fucking _god_. If Jocelyn thought their first coupling was great, their second had been _phenomenal_. Raphael had gone wild on her, pounding her so hard she couldn’t be sure she hadn’t gotten a concussion from it.

He’d even kept going _after_ she’d climaxed, which had only served to keep her pleasure surging, unable to ebb. It was a relief when he finally stopped the world-rocking thrusting, cumming inside her so hard she’d been able to feel it even within the post-orgasmic numbness that’d gone through her. His semen filling her up had been hot and palpable.

Well, it was official now – she was addicted. Her body was going to complain often, but she was going to end up demanding more of _this_ by the day.

As her lover gave some gentle afterglow thrusts, her heart going a mile a minute and her breath struggling to keep up, her mind had been spinning. Something about the way he kept moving, kept making love, touched her in a way his bestial mating couldn’t match. She found herself whimpering and moaning, feeling _great_ – if a little over-sensitive.

He brought his lips to her temple, hot breath fanning over her as he gave little kisses. She smiled, bringing a hand to his neck to pet him in response. She was exhausted by now, feeling like she’d gone through a full day’s worth of constant dancing, but she had enough energy left for some affection. Her thighs were aching from hanging onto him and her stomach hurt from her intense orgasm, leaving her fully ready for a post-sex nap.

But as Raphael’s lips trailed little pecks down her cheek to her jaw, she realized he wasn’t stopping. If anything, his thrusts were starting to pick up again, the pace increasing so slowly she found herself doubting her perceptions.

He was really going to go again, immediately after he’d just climaxed? She was stunned – partly because _how was his dick still out anyway??_ and partly because she couldn’t take another round of _that_. She’d faint, she just knew it.

“Baby,” she breathed, too tired to put in much more effort, “baby, stop…enough…”

He groaned, his hips pausing – but only for a moment. “Just once more,” he begged, continuing the slow motions.

God, she wanted to let him, but she already knew she was going to have trouble walking. Taking him again would just leave her crippled.

“No – Raphael, I can’t take it,” she told him.

He exhaled sharply, stopping, then lifted his head to catch her gaze. His pleading expression hit her right in the heart as he said, “Please, babe…just like this, I won’t go any faster.” He gave another slow, gentle delve in example.

She couldn’t help a moan, the sensation still feeling so damn good. Well, she reasoned, _he_ was going to be doing all the work…and he was being so sweet, pleading with her. Her dominant side was totally swayed.

 _Shit_. If he learned he could manipulate her like this, she’d be lost. Still, she found it impossible to resist that gaze.

Nodding, she agreed, “Okay…but just like this, okay?” Anything more and she’d just die.

He gave a sharp nod, catching her lips in an appreciative kiss. Then he started moving again, the little, gentle thrusts picking up to where it’d left off. Other than shifting to bring them more tightly entwined, though, he kept to his promise – his pace never increased. He leaned a little to his side, pulling her leg over his, his new angle giving him greater range and control.

His thrusts changed, becoming longer and deeper than before; he drew back until he was almost totally free of her confines before slipping back inside to the hilt. Each stroke was punctuated by his hips pressing in harder than he had to against her, as if he were seeking an even deeper connection.

It made her heart swell, made her eyes sting. Something about this sweet loving made her emotional, leaving her wanting it as much as he clearly was. Soon she was humming in approval in time with his slow motions, her legs limp but her hands still animated. She pet and stroked him, from his cheeks to his neck, from his shoulders to his sides.

She watched as his eyes fluttered closed, so deep in his own pleasure she could read it in his face.

 _God, I love you_ , she thought – and when he jolted, gaze snapping back to her again, she realized she’d spoken her thought aloud.

Oops.

He kissed her, his lips touching her as gently as his hips were moving, making her feel precious and loved in a way she never had before. She gave a soft hum, feeling more emotional now than she had when he’d spoken those same words aloud to her.

Everything about this moment got to her. It was warm, sweet, slow, encompassing – sure, his lovemaking felt good, but that was eclipsed by the feeling in her heart. She felt tears start to eke out as it went on, feeling so in love she couldn’t stop it. And Raphael, her beautiful sweetheart, started kissing the tears away.

It didn’t take much longer for another climax to reach her – her fifth so far – but this one was wholly different from the others. Each one before had been intense, body-shaking and earth-shattering and mind-numbing.

This one was sweet, filling, warm and comfortable. This one welcomed her lover, made her heart beat harder but no faster. She moaned as it spread through her, her mind still fully capable of analyzing what was happening even as the pleasure washed over her. She felt Raphael climax, too, and it felt identical to her own. Each pulse of his member inside her was strong but slow – and once he sealed their hips together he held absolutely still, leaving her able to _count_ the individual ones.

Eight. Eight of those lovely pulses before it ended. He groaned in time with the first, then just hummed and moaned against her neck throughout the rest.

Nothing had ever felt this good, she thought. This – _this_ – was lovemaking, a connection of hearts alongside bodies.

She was _so_ happy she’d agreed to his ‘just one more’.


	34. No Hard Feelings

**Rating:** R (swearing/sexual references/nudity)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Exhausted though Jocelyn was after their _multiple_ rounds, she actually found it strangely difficult to fall asleep. Instead she ended up on her back, the sheets up over her breasts, talking to her lover. Raphael, similarly, was on his stomach, arms wrapped around a pillow. He looked _adorable_ to her, the red pillowcase covering up the lower half of his face in an almost ironic reversal of how she was used to seeing him. 

The first subject? Her physical health. Raphael was quick to ask if her body was okay, and she had to admit that while she wasn’t _injured_ , she certainly wasn’t going to be walking anywhere in the near future. A warning kind of throbbing was starting, hinting that later on she’d be feeling a hell of an ache. 

Strange how that wasn’t much of a deterrent for her. 

Her boyfriend had a dark, guilty look in his eye as she stated this, clearly feeling a measure of disappointment in himself. 

So she quipped, “Ask me how my heart’s doing.” 

His gaze immediately shifted from that guilt to something sly and knowing. “How’s your heart doing?” he asked. 

Grinning, she answered, “Satisfied, warm, and three thousand percent in love.” 

He shoved his face into the pillow, muscles jumping in his arms as he tensed. The sight made her bite her lip, always so pleased with his shy side. Reaching out, she ran her fingers over his skin, petting as well as she could with the back of her hand. 

After a moment he peeked his head back out of his temporary shield, and though she couldn’t see his mouth, she got the distinct impression he was smiling at her. 

Then something darker tinted his gaze. Concerned, she tilted her head at him, thinking that nothing heavy or negative should be tainting this moment between them. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” she asked, bringing her hand to his cheek. 

He shifted, shoving the pillow under his arms instead of hugging it, and caught her hand. Holding it to his mouth, he ventured, “Can I ask you somethin’?” 

“Of course you can,” she told him. “No secrets, baby, I promise.” 

“…You never really told me why you did that knives-on-your-slippers thing,” he started, and a chill went through her. “Why’d you do it?” 

She’d told him, in short, that she’d been desperate to rekindle her flame of passion. That’d been only a partial truth, and she hadn’t explained the core of it, either. Honestly, she was a little surprised he’d waited this long to ask for answers. 

But then, she’d thought it, hadn’t she? This was their moment, the moment when everything was okay. He must’ve thought the same thing. Right here, right now, there was no such thing as “taboo”. Besides, she’d just promised him ‘no secrets’. 

She was damn well going to uphold that. 

Wetting her lips, Jocelyn decided to just say it – no excuses, no good news/bad news, no beating around the bush. 

She said, “I was dying.” 

His gaze turned alarmed, obviously not having been expecting that. 

“On the inside,” she clarified. His eyes didn’t clear up much. Pushing that aside, she explained, “I didn’t….I didn’t understand what was happening at the time. I just kept getting more and more depressed. Now that I can look back…it was all my own doing,” she admitted. 

“Jocelyn…” he murmured. 

Glancing away from him, she went on, “I was so unhealthy. The way I lived my life…I was hella broken,” she told him. “Ever since Dad died I just wasn’t ‘right’ anymore. It hurt so much to lose him that I just kept doing whatever I could to avoid thinking about him. It was the worst coping method,” she added with disgust at herself. “But I had no idea it wasn’t normal and no one told me otherwise. No one even noticed, I don’t think…” 

Hesitant, Raphael ventured, “Not even Cecilia?” 

Her mother’s name was like a punch to the gut right then. Jo answered, voice thick, “No…Mom was dealing with her own grief, too. Not just losing Dad, but also losing Antony. I think by then she’d been viewing Antony like her savior, so losing him…it broke her. She was worse off than I was.” 

His fingers tightened on her hand, and she felt him press a kiss to her knuckles. The little show of affection pulled a smile out of her. 

She inhaled in a deep breath, then went on, “A-anyway, it was kind of Denise’s fault.” 

“Denise?” he echoed. “Your character?” 

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Trying to get into the head of a broken woman, someone who’s suffered endless loss?” She gave him a look. “That sound like anyone you know?” 

Gaze hard, he answered, “Not by a long shot.”

 _Sweetheart._

Smiling a little, she continued, “Well, it did to _me_. I mean, I wasn’t aware of it, but every time I tried to choreograph for Denise…I was just delving into my own mind, not hers. Suddenly all my clever avoidance tactics weren’t working anymore. Things kept getting worse…and worse…and I just…” She trailed off, sucking in a shuddering breath, her eyes starting to water just recalling this. 

Every time she’d cried – now that she could look back on it – had been tears over herself, not her character. 

“Babe,” Raphael murmured, his voice deep and soft and the single most breathtaking sound she’d ever heard. His hand released hers to reach out, stroking her cheek. His thumb ghosted over her lips. 

It made her heart give a heavy, warm beat. Catching his hand in hers, she kissed that wandering thumb. He smiled; she smiled back. 

Then, sobering, she pushed on. “The whole thing left me desperate to escape, like I was losing my mind. Maybe I was. I already have OCD, who knows how easy it’d be for me to break even further?” She could see, then, that Raphael _wanted_ to say something, but it was clear he couldn’t come up with a good response. 

Taking pity on him, she went on, “ _That’s_ why I put the damn knives on my slippers. I wasn’t thinking rationally anymore. I was panicking on the inside, desperate to not have my routine interrupted.” She hesitated, then caught his eyes. “And then there was you.” 

His brows lifted, surprised. “Me?” he checked. 

“Yeah, you,” she agreed, nudging him with her knee. “You saved my life that night, baby…in more ways than one.” 

Now _his_ eyes were moist, tears threatening. “Jocelyn…” he murmured. His hand started petting her cheek again. 

She returned the favor, reaching out to stroke his thick, warm skin. “You’re everything I needed and I didn’t even know it,” she told him, admiring him. “All my little broken pieces and fractures…you fixed them…even when I didn’t want you to.” 

At that, he shifted, moving to his side and edging closer so he could pull her against him. She was more than happy to oblige, snuggling into his warm, heavy arms. Her face now in his neck, just above his plastron, she gave a pleased hum while his hand started petting her hair. 

It felt _lovely_. 

“Who would’ve guessed,” she mused, “that the thing I needed most was a musclehead with self-esteem issues?” 

“I do _not_ –” he started; she gave him a blank look. Huffing, he relented. “Fine, whatever,” he grumbled. 

She kissed the flesh directly in front of her, drawing a soft growl out of him. “Good boy,” she purred. 

He huffed again, muttering, “Askin’ for it.” 

“Damn right I am,” she agreed. Then, burrowing in tighter against him, she added, “But we can save that for later.” She threw her knee over his hip, finding the position surprisingly comfortable – even with her arms trapped between their chests. At once she could feel lethargy suffusing her bones, that elusive desire to sleep finally reaching her. 

She felt him take a breath like he was about to retort, but right then they both heard a threatening creak. They froze, neither moving a fraction. Their stillness, unfortunately, did nothing to stave off the inevitable; suddenly there was a wooden _crack_ and they dropped. The corner of the bed by Raph’s feet had collapsed, and Jo gave a little yelp as they were pulled down. 

They didn’t get far, though; Raphael quickly got a foot on the ground to stop the slide. He had her clutched to his side, though at this point it didn’t matter much. She moved to sit up, examining the poor bed, and he used her new position to heft her into his arms, sheets and all. 

It took him a moment to get on his feet, though, the now broken bed doing a great job of holding him hostage. Keeping her in one arm, he leaned down to jerk the sheets and then the mattress out of the way. At first she was a little confused about why he still held her, but then it hit her – she’d told him she wouldn’t be standing ‘anytime soon’. Thoughtful man, her Raphael. 

Yep, that was a broken box spring, she noted once it was uncovered. The foot of that corner had snapped off completely as well as two wooden supports, the wood tearing through the cloth stapled to it in two places. It made her glad she hadn’t tried to climb out on her own. That could’ve done a lot of damage to her legs – which, for a ballerina, was practically a death sentence. 

“…So, in the future,” she began thoughtfully, “maybe get a metal box spring.” 

He just gave a vague grunt, obviously annoyed by this. Then, when he turned to look at her, she burst out laughing. All the more irritated, he snapped, “What’s so funny?” 

“We broke your bed!” she blurted, dropping her face to his shoulder. 

A reluctant chuckle was pulled from him. He reasoned, “It’s an old bed and I’m a heavy guy.” Point of fact, she estimated he was _at least_ four-fifty, and that wasn’t even taking his shell into account. She had no idea how heavy _that_ was. She’d never bothered to ask, but either way it was painfully obvious that he was a ‘heavy guy’. 

“Still!” she giggled. “I mean, come on, you can’t tell me you’re not gonna use those exact words when your bros ask how your night went.” She knew by now that teasing was a given for the guys, so she knew that no matter what _she_ might have to say on the subject, they were totally gonna lay into Raphael when they got back. 

_‘We broke my bed’_ would be the perfect response to get them all to shut up. 

Her lover gave a little, reluctant smile, then sighed. “Alright, forget it. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He headed towards his shower, carrying her the whole way. 

“Wait, what?” she replied. On the one hand, sure, cleaning up after sex was kind of a given. On the other, why did they have to do it _now?_ She still wanted little more than a nap. 

“Been meaning to wash you off for a while,” he told her. 

Understandable. She replied, “What stopped you?”

“Wanted t’let you sleep. Can’t do that now,” he pointed out. 

Touché. 

The shower itself was literally a showerhead and two handles with a sunken drain in the floor, a half-circle curtain rod around it. It was barely big enough for _him_ ; with _her_ involved it was going to be notably more cramped. 

He said nothing as he twisted the knobs, keeping her out of the spray while he tested the water with his hand. 

“F-Y-I,” Jo added, “I know it’s not easy finding stuff big enough to handle you, but bathtubs are a _great_ investment.” 

“Keep talkin’,” he quipped, equally annoyed and amused. 

“I plan to,” she retorted. “I’m untouchable right now, ya know. You need to care for your poor, exhausted lovergirl. That’s me,” she added in an aside. 

He gave her a look that said _not for long_. She grinned, shameless as ever. Then, determining the water to be at a good temperature, he set her on her feet. She let him pull the sheet off her body, preening a little by fluffing her hair and running her hands over her chest and belly. A tiny twinge in the latter part told her she probably shouldn’t do that. 

“Alright, c’mon,” he directed, aiming her at the water. 

When she went to step under the spray, however, she received a sharp _swat_ on her rear, drawing a surprised cry from her as she jolted. Her muscles there were toned enough that it didn’t hurt, but she’d damn well _felt_ it. Swiveling around to him, she snapped, “Did you just _spank_ me?” 

He gave her a steady, satisfied cat grin. 

“You’re in _so_ much trouble,” she snap-giggled, torn between amusement and indignation. Ignoring that, her beau pushed her back into the water, following her in as his arm circled her back. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he patronized her. 

The water, she noted immediately, felt _divine_. It was hot enough that the chilly parts of her burned and the warm parts of her grew more so, and she loved it. She didn’t know how _he’d_ known this, but she was a sucker for heat – she loved the sun, jacuzzis, heated blankets, and yes, hot showers. It was why she managed to have tan lines despite already _being_ tan. As the water poured over her hair and down her back, an almost erotic moan fell from her lips. Her eyes slid closed, just basking in the warmth. 

She’d intended to clap back at him, but once she was under that spray, she was lost. All her tension, all her animosity, all her _energy_ just washed away. She couldn’t have helped Raphael bathe her right then if she’d wanted to. She just tilted her head back, letting the water pour over her face, her eyelids, her lips. In an instant she could feel her head starting to swim. 

Lucky for her, then, that Raphael was all too willing to front the workload. His hands wandered over her entire body, little by little, sometimes soapy and sometimes not. It was all she could do to just stand there, fighting to stay awake if only to feel all this delicious sensation. Even his more intimate cleansing of her body felt amazing, leaving her pleased and warm – yet not aroused. The hot water made everything just feel relaxing. 

Lesson learned: put her under a hot spray of water with her lover willing to bathe her and she might as well be a five-foot-nine statue of a naked woman. 

By the time the shower ended she was already half asleep. She was barely aware of being carried, moved, and – she thought – dressed. The last thing she perceived was being in her shirt and skirt and leggings, held in her lover’s arms. She thought she said “I love you” but by this point it could easily have just been a thought on her part. 

Then everything went quiet, still, and deliciously warm. 

* * *

Right now, Leo was _bored_. He, Donny, Mikey, and even Splinter had abandoned the lair some three hours ago, escaping from the coming lovemaking before it could get started. But while Splinter headed off to their secondary hide-out (which was _far_ from ready to be inhabited, the guys having found it just two weeks prior), the turtles headed up to the city. 

At first they just did their normal patrols, keeping in contact while they split up to cover more ground. But after a while of that they met up again, Mikey having acquired a pizza from somewhere. They shared it as they talked, all three of them ignoring the elephant in the room. 

For a while. 

Then Leo commented, “Fear, huh?” He could see that, he admitted. Raph’s biggest problem had always been dealing with his fears. It hadn’t been hard to figure out that his anger was, more often than not, a kind of defense. It’d just grown out of control as he kept it up, leading to him becoming the big hothead he was now. 

If not for the fact that Raph _also_ had a habit of blocking out all reason while simultaneously verbally cutting deep when enraged, Leo wouldn’t have such a damn hard time dealing with him. 

“Yep,” Donny answered, only half paying attention. He was messing with his wrist display, screens flashing by too fast for Leo to follow. 

“Figures. I’m still surprised, though,” Leo mused. 

“Why?” Mikey asked. “Not like he loves Jo the same way he loves us.” 

Glancing towards the youngest, Leo replied, “I know _that_ , but…still. Eighteen years,” he hinted. 

Mikey snorted. “As if _time_ matters. Jo knows him in a way we never will.” 

Honestly, that was almost offensive. Leo prided himself on knowing his brothers, on having their personalities pinned down. Besides, that was exactly what Jocelyn had told _him_ well over a month prior. He retorted, “You say that like _we_ don’t know him in a way _she_ never will.” 

“Maybe not,” Donny added. 

“Oh, come on,” Leo snapped, arms wide, “he’s _our_ brother. We’ve been a four-man team our whole lives. Jo’s been here for like four months.”

“And in that time,” Donny checked, “how often have _you_ hugged and kissed him?” 

That vision disgusted Leonardo. He cringed. 

Mikey agreed, “Exactly. Jo’s giving him everything _we_ never will.” Glancing away, he added more quietly, “You wouldn’t understand.” 

Those words cut – because Leo _did_ understand. At least, he understood that having a significant other was a feeling like no other. He understood that Raph had something _they_ didn’t, that even now he was experiencing a pleasure they’d yet to discover for themselves. 

What he _didn’t_ understand was how Jo had seen so deeply into Raph, to the point where even Leo’s insight hadn’t been able to find the same. 

He replied, “No, I get it – most of it, anyway. I’m just thinking…all those ‘fears’ Jo laid out? I hadn’t even seen half of those, and I’d been _looking_ for them.” Creepy though that statement might be, Leo considered it just another of his responsibilities. 

To account for a worst case scenario, you had to _know_ the worst case scenario. That included peeling his brothers apart, determining their strengths and weaknesses, and planning ahead in case of an emergency. 

Mikey gave him a look. Then Donny replied, “That’s cause we’re not in the same place in his heart.” 

Mikey pointed at the genius as if saying _that, right there_. 

“…Meaning Jo is seeing parts of him we can’t,” Leo concluded. He could admit to that. This talk was doing wonders in helping him grasp this concept – for his type of mind, that was impressive. “Reason” was a huge part of his thinking process, so anything that conflicted with that tended to leave him baffled. And what was more unreasonable than people acting out because of love? 

What had ever been more unreasonable than Raph’s behavior today? 

Donny went on, “Our hearts have three chambers – if you use a metaphor, then for Raph, we’re in one, the city is in another…and Jo’s in the third. She’ll never know how hard being a ninja is on him, and we’ll never know how strongly he feels for her.” 

Nodding to himself, Leo accepted that. But that metaphor didn’t just apply to Raphael – all four of them had identical hearts. A part of Leo was worried about that, wondering what the future had in store for them…

…but the rest was yearning, longing for the same thing Raph had now. 

Seeming to read his mind, Mikey commented, “What’s true for one is true for all.” 

Both Donny and Leo gave him a look, surprised by the wisdom that had just come from the youngest. 

“That was _deep_ ,” Donny commented. 

Mikey gave them a sheepish smile. “Raph told me that. Said Dad told _him_.” 

Chuckling, Leo shook his head. “Of course,” he said. 

Then Mikey quipped, “So, do you think the Lair’s gonna smell like sex when we get back?” 

Leo couldn’t help a barking laugh, covering his face with both hands to try and wrangle the humor back in. 

“Mikey!” Donny snapped, aghast. 

“What?” Mikey returned with a shrug. 

“ _Tact_ ,” Donny chided him. 

That made Mikey pause, thinking. Then he said, “Attacked what?” 

“No–” Donny started, then sighed. “Tact,” he repeated. “T-a-c-t. It means the opposite of being blunt and unceremonious.” 

“…Ohh,” Mikey hummed. 

Leo quipped, “You still don’t get it, do you?”

“Nope,” Mikey admitted. Donny groaned. 

Then Donny’s phone started ringing and he stepped aside to answer it. Leo heard him say, “Yeah, what’s up? …Alright, I’ll tell them. See ya.” When he turned back towards them, Donny declared, “That was Raph. He says we don’t have to avoid going home anymore.” 

Good, cause Leo was ready to head back and get some sleep. It was almost three in the morning. Standing up, he directed, “Mikey, go let Dad know.” 

Nodding, Mikey hopped up and took out his board, leaping from the building. 

To Donny, Leo said, “Squirrel formation?” 

Donny laughed, shaking his head. Ever since Mikey coined that phrase, it’d been a running joke for them. Gesturing onward, Leo directed Donny take the first leap. He followed after, the pair of them quickly maneuvering to a sewer entrance. 

Mikey caught up with them just before they reached the final turn into the Lair, his board giving him greater speed than Leo and Donny could match. Noticing that Splinter wasn’t with him – despite the fact that their father could easily keep up – Leo asked, “Dad staying behind?” 

“He was asleep,” Mikey told him. “I left a note.” He kicked up onto a pipe, grinding along it as Donny and Leo ran on foot. 

A little part of Leo wanted to take the chance his father’s absence provided to go snooping around Splinter’s room. It was fully off-limits, had been ever since the guys had finished digging out its section and getting air, electricity and running water set up. Splinter had just closed it off to them. 

They’d all been dying to venture inside and find out just why it was forbidden. 

But there was no way they’d be able to completely erase the evidence of their presences, and that would just result in them getting sent to the _Hashi_. Again. Better not, then. 

When they finally entered the Lair again, though, they got an immediate surprise. Raphael was sitting in the computer alcove, hand on the mouse, absently clicking as he looked between the screens. There was a camera feed on each one (minus the two that were broken), and he was clearly looking for something. 

As they came closer, they all recognized that each camera was centered on trash dumps – places they commonly went whenever they needed some kind of replacement. It was amazing the huge number of perfectly good, if not brand new, stuff people just threw out. 

And, Leo noticed, the Lair did _not_ smell like sex. The vents were clearly doing their job. 

The brothers glanced at each other, curious, as they approached. Mikey started, “Hey Raph, what’s up?” 

Raphael gave them a glance. “Hey, guys,” he greeted. 

“What are you hunting for?” Donny asked. 

“Box spring,” Raph answered, attention back on the screen. 

Leo and Donny shared a look, the puzzle pieces connecting. Then, in unison, they looked towards Mikey – sure enough, the youngest was clueless. 

“Why?” he demanded, baffled. 

Leo sighed, already knowing where this was going. Donny just shook his head. Raphael, on the other hand, started to grin. 

“Mine broke,” he informed them, looking so proud of himself Leo had to roll his eyes. 

This was _not_ a conversation Leo wanted to hear. He was already starting to walk away as Mikey ventured, shocked, “Did…did Jo survive?” 

The eldest couldn’t help a strangled kind of laugh. Why did Mikey never quit while he was ahead? 

Raph laughed, too, answering, “Yeah, Mikey, she’s fine. She’s asleep.” 

Concerned, Donny checked, “In your broken bed?” 

“No – ah, Leo, wait up,” Raph called. 

Leo had a bad feeling about this. He pivoted in place, giving Raph a look that said, _Tell me you didn’t._

“I put her in your bed,” Raph told him. 

Leo looked up at the ceiling, praying for patience. _Of course he did._ Trying not to snap, he replied, “You put her…in _my_ bed.” 

“Well, yeah,” Raph shrugged. “I had to put her _somewhere_.” 

Giving him a glare, Leo intoned, “And you picked my bed…because?” 

Another shrug. 

Put bluntly, Leonardo didn’t like this development. He didn’t mind that Raph’s girlfriend was sleeping in his bed _too_ much – the thing that bothered him was the lack of checking first. 

He snapped, “And you didn’t think to call me and ask first?” 

Raph spread his arms, all innocence. “What, would you have said ‘no’?” 

“Maybe!” Leo shot at him, stalking back over. “The point is you should’ve _asked!”  
_

Skirting away from the altercation, Mikey and Donny did a quick back-and-forth. 

“Fight?”

“Fight.” 

“Kitchen?”

“Kitchen.” 

They escaped, tip-toeing away from their elder brothers. 

“Fine, d’you care if Jo sleeps in your bed?!” Raph barked. 

“Wrong question,” Leo shot back. “Try again!” 

“Dude, the fuck?!” Raph snapped. “You want me to go wake her up?!” 

“No, I don’t want you to go wake her up – I don’t want my fucking bed smelling like _your_ girlfriend after the two of you just _fucked!”  
_

“I gave her a shower!!” 

“That doesn’t excuse you just acting on your own!!” _  
_

Huffing, Raph shouted, _“Fine!! I’ll go take her home and when I get back I’ll burn your damn sheets!!”_

“Don’t forget the mattress and pillows!” Leo snapped back. 

Raphael threw up his arms and stalked around his brother, heading for Leo’s room. Almost immediately Leonardo felt bad, and he hurried to catch up with Raph, hands gesturing for calm. 

“Hold on, hang on,” he started, trying to stop Raph’s warpath by stepping in his way. When his younger brother finally stopped, Leo forced out, “It’s fine, let her sleep. But in the future… _ask_ , alright?” 

Raph was clearly close to going rage-mode, but after a moment of huffing, he nodded. They stared at each other for a long moment. Animosity flowed between them. 

Trying to defuse the situation, Leo quipped, “Congratulations on losing your virginity.” 

Mikey’s raucous laughter reached them immediately, and Raph – Raph snorted, shuffling back a step and shaking his head, grinning. 

“Seriously?!” he blurted. 

Leo offered him a shrug. “Seemed like the appropriate thing to say.” 

Raph huffed out something that sounded like _fuckin’_. “Just wait,” he warned Leo. “When it’s your turn…” 

Leo gave him a horrified look. “ _My_ turn? I don’t wanna have sex with you!” 

Raph threw back his head and laughed, Mikey cackling so hard from the kitchen he ended up on the floor, holding his middle. 

It wasn’t often Leo got the chance to make jokes, so he was having fun with this. 

Then Raph gave him a look, hinting, “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.” 

“Ugh!” Leo snapped, shuddering. “Oh, gross, I feel disgusting. That’s it, that’s enough.” To Raph, he said, “You win, I’m out.” He was going to have to scrub the hell out of himself to get rid of the slimy, crawling sensation under his skin after _that_ comment. 

As he strode away, though, he had to admit that that exchange was one of the most fun he’d had in a long while. He’d have to tease Raph about his sex life more in the future. It was clearly a good source of jabs for them _both_. He just had to remind himself to not try it with Jocelyn. That woman wouldn’t get the least bit offended no matter what he said. She’d win every battle of innuendo, bar none. 

…Honestly, he was going to enjoy having her around, he thought. She made Mikey laugh, kept Raph cool, and gave Donny another receptacle for his constant technical ramblings. In the end, she was easing the weight on Leo’s shell just by being around. 

Maybe his brothers getting girlfriends really was the best thing for them all.


	35. His Worst Nightmare

**Rating:** R (swearing/sexual references/violence)

* * *

* * *

* * *

When Jocelyn woke up, she wasn’t quite sure where she was. She didn’t recognize the room she was in, and her mind was just slow enough that it took her several moments for the dots to connect. 

The first clue should’ve been that everything was in shades of blue and that the walls were clearly made of concrete and brickwork. What actually made it click, though, was when she spotted a trio of Japanese swords in sheaths on the bed’s headboard. 

_Leonardo._

She sat up, tossing the covers off her with a measure of regret – she’d been so warm and comfy, the bed sucking her in – and she _immediately_ cringed, holding her middle. Oh, damn. She’d almost forgotten about this part…

Her uterus was _displeased_. 

Humming to herself, she considered her next move. She could just call Raphael over – it was, after all, _his_ fault she was bedridden – and have him carry her about, but…she didn’t want to reduce him to that. He was more than just her damn chauffeur. Granted, she didn’t _mind_ him carrying her, but she’d rather not start demanding it. 

On the other hand, could she even walk on her own? He’d pounded the _hell_ out of her. She’d never gotten that much of a sexual workout before so she didn’t know how well she’d be able to take it. 

She wanted to get up and start strutting, figuring it out by feel, but the thought that she might end up on her face held her back. _Fuck it_. She might as well just have Raphael here, just in case. And, she noticed, she was dressed in everything except her boots – and her hair was braided. She was _quite_ certain she hadn’t done that, and the little red ribbon tying it off confirmed this. 

Raphael had braided her hair? She hadn’t even known he _could_ braid. It drew a grin out of her, pleased with him for multiple reasons – namely that he’d recognized how horrible her bed head could get, how she commonly braided her hair before bed to prevent that. He knew her habits. That little… _sweetheart!_

“Raphael!” she called towards the doorway – which, she noticed, was also just a curtain. It appeared to be the theme for all their rooms. And, she saw now, there was an actual room with a door in here. Guessing by its placement and the lack of a visible shower and toilet, that was Leo’s bathroom. 

She didn’t hear any noise at first, but soon Raphael came in, brushing the cloth aside. He actually looked somewhat hesitant – unsure what she wanted him for, she guessed. And he was back in his normal getup, bandana and all. 

She lifted a hand towards him. “Help me up,” she told him. 

Nodding, he came around to her, asking, “Sleep well?” 

“Mm,” she agreed, “like the dead.” She took his hands when he offered, carefully pulling herself up, testing what her body did and didn’t want to do. 

The moment she was upright, a sharp pain went through her and she pitched forward again, hugging herself. Raphael’s hands seized her shoulders, and he snapped, “You okay?” 

Holy _shit_ she’d been put through the wringer. Giving him a strained smile, trying to keep things light, she replied, “Oh, no worries, I signed onto this when I jumped on your dick.” 

At once she heard Leo’s voice echo to them: “We can hear you!” 

She glanced at the doorway, processing this. Raphael, she saw, was now hiding his face behind a hand, silent. 

“So,” she started, “your brothers are home.” 

“Yeah,” he huffed. 

She breathed carefully as she straightened up again, figuring out how far she could bend and stretch. And she quipped, “Did you wreck ‘em with sex talk?” 

“No!” he blurted, aghast. Reigning that in, he lowered his voice, telling her, “They know my bed is toast. Mikey asked me if you’d died. That’s it.” 

She laughed, but the chuckles made her wince. “Of course he did,” she giggled. “Well, the concern is touching but I’m just a _little_ tougher than that.” To the doorway, she called, “I’m aliiiiiive!” 

Mikey’s voice called back, “Frankensteeeiiiiinnn!” 

“Uh, excuse you, it’s Frankenstein’s monster!” she threw back. 

“Jocelyn,” Raphael sighed. 

Chuckling, she nodded. “Got it, I’m done.” Then he leaned down, obviously intending to pick her up, but she stopped him with a shove. “Whoa, hang on, none of that,” she chided. 

He looked surprised as he straightened up again. “Thought you’d want me t’carry you,” he said. 

She shook her head. “Way I see it,” she told him, “this is _not_ a one-off. I’m gonna need to learn how to deal with it.” 

She could see he was torn. On the one hand, he felt bad for leaving her sore – on the other, he was clearly pleased that she was fine with it. Besides, she’d just as good as promised there’d be more. 

Giving her a naughty little smirk, he replied, “As th’lady wishes.” 

She grinned. “Now, then, to the stride of pride,” she said, taking his hand. 

His brows lifted. “Stride of pride?” he echoed. 

He hadn’t heard of that before? Winking, she explained, “The opposite of the walk of shame.” 

He huffed on a laugh, smiling wide. “You’re crazy,” he told her. 

That just made her grin even bigger. 

Maybe it was thanks to her dancer’s grace, but it didn’t take long for her to work out how to walk with her middle so sore. Raphael held her hand as they exited the room, just in case, and the by the time she made it out she was learning how to place her feet just so. And, she saw, just on the other side of the curtain were her boots. 

Raphael knelt down to put them on her, and this she allowed, knowing it would just be too awkward to do it, herself. This meant, of course, that she’d have to deal with balance on top of her careful steps, but she figured she could handle that. 

She didn’t see the guys, though. To Raphael, she asked, “Where’d your bros go?” 

“Leo ‘n Donny are in Donny’s room,” he told her, rising. “Mikey’s in his.” 

Then that meant their shouted comments had gone between rooms. “Jesus, this place has acoustics,” she noted. 

He chuckled. “Yeah. That’s why we gotta use headphones when using the computer for…stuff,” he intoned with a wink. 

She snorted. Then, sobering, she asked, “What time is it, by the way?” 

“Nine,” he told her. 

Her brows lifted. It’d been about two in the morning when their last ‘round’ had ended, she thought. She’d slept longer than she’d anticipated. Humming, she ventured, “Well…guess I ought to go home, then.” 

Disappointment crushed her lover’s face. 

She wasn’t too far from that, herself. She didn’t want to go – but this wasn’t _her_ home. No matter how much he wanted her here, how much she wished she could stay, she still had to go home. Taking his hand, she stepped closer, leaning against him. 

“Oh, come on,” she teased, “not like we’re never gonna see each other again.” 

For a long moment he just looked at her, quiet and solemn. And then he crouched down, looping his arms around her back and legs, and lifted her up. “Let’s get you some breakfast first,” he said. 

Smiling at him, she nodded, allowing this. She might’ve fought him, stopping him from picking her up, if it’d been for any other reason than the one she could see in him now: that he just wanted to keep her close for a little while longer. Because of this, she just accepted it, nuzzling her nose into his neck. She felt his skin give a low vibration as she did so, betraying his pleasure with the action.  

* * *

Once she was fed, Raphael took Jocelyn home. They took the long way, walking hand in hand, talking most of the time and quietly enjoying one another’s presence the rest. They were slow, half because of Jocelyn’s obvious sensitivity and half because they just wanted to linger. 

When he finally got her to their usual subway platform, he had a hard time letting her go. Sure, he wanted her to stay, but he was also worried how well she could make it home from here. She’d notably recovered during their walk, her aches fading; it was still clear that she was walking gingerly, her steps careful. He wanted her in his sight while the rest of it faded, making sure nothing happened in the interim. 

So he played the ‘just one more kiss’ game, following her for ‘one more’ every time she took even one step away from him. Eventually she started giggling – and wincing, her laughter causing her some measure of distress – chiding him, “Oh, my god, _enough_ , baby!” 

He kissed her again for telling him ‘enough’. 

He would _never_ get enough of her. 

And then she was too close to the platform for him to follow any longer. He was still reluctant to let her go, and this he showed by holding onto her hand for as long as he could. His lover gave him several glances over her shoulder as she strode away, each one giving him a little shred of hope that she’d choose to come back. 

She’d didn’t, and he couldn’t help feeling disappointed by that. 

He kept checking his phone on the way back, watching as the minutes ticked by on the digital screen. After a little while he texted her: _u home yet?_

 _Not yet,_ she sent back. 

_let me no when u r,_ he texted. 

Her response? _know*_. 

_w/e,_ he sent her, smiling. Being accurate with his texts was difficult – his large fingers meant he commonly hit the wrong keys. Any tactics that could reduce the number of chances he’d hit ‘u’ instead of ‘y’ was utilized. Not to mention he found it cute, how she tried so hard to correct him. 

She could keep at it all she liked; he wasn’t changing. 

It didn’t take much longer for her next text to reach him, just informing him that she was home safe. 

_enjoy ur day,_ he sent her. 

_Planning to. Gonna sit on my ass and watch cartoons all day,_ she replied. 

Why did that make him so weirdly happy? 

They chatted back and forth over texts as he headed back home. By the time he got there everyone was dead asleep, and he went back to his room. He considered his murdered bed for a moment, then thought, _To hell with it._ He demolished the box spring, tossing out the broken pieces, laid the mattress on the floor, and dealt with it. 

By the time he woke up again, it felt like time had sped up. He enjoyed his life with Jocelyn more than ever before, and despite his major breakdown, life in the Lair quickly returned to normal. Splinter hadn’t even sent him to the _Hashi_ , surprising him – but then, his father would know that it wasn’t necessary. Raphael’s guilt was all too obvious. And though the words “I forgive you” were never spoken to him directly, he _felt_ his brothers’ forgiveness as time went on. 

It might have had something to do with the fact that he was trying harder than he’d ever tried before, _choosing_ to let their jabs go and really listening when they spoke. He made himself useful, as well, always ready to lend a hand if requested. It was, in Raphael’s mind, his penance – but the more he kept it up, the more he just plain _liked_ doing it. 

His rage episode might have fractured his relationship with his brothers, but it was healing stronger than before. They hadn’t been this close since they were toddlers. 

Who would’ve guessed that what they’d needed to strengthen their bonds was for Raph to break them first? 

Jocelyn’s physical recovery, too, went well. She’d informed him that the aches were gone in under 24 hours, letting her pick right back up with her ballet practice the following morning. They talked about sex in detail before trying it again, though, Raphael more than a little worried that he might end up hurting her routines if they did it too often. 

After a while they agreed on keeping things as they’d been, for the most part: neither resisted the urge to make out, and they still commonly pleasured one another. But they kept “sex” for more special occasions – which, as time went by, was steadily getting defined more and more loosely. They finally admitted they didn’t actually want to hold back after he swung by while she was in the shower and she invited him to join her. 

They wasted a lot of water that night. 

And then, nearly a month later, one of his worst fears was realized: while out on patrol, Donny’s alert system went off. 

Jocelyn’s name had been picked up by emergency services. 

* * *

Her day started out normal enough. Jocelyn woke up, checked her phone to find Raphael had discovered how to search for gifs – he sent her whichever ones he found that he found funny, and it had her giggling – went to ballet school, talked with her fellow dancers, and that day they finally got the production cemented. All dances, music and costumes were decided upon. Now all they had to do was get everything memorized and crafted as needed. 

Afterwards she and Cassie spent the day together. They wandered from place to place, walking the streets, sometimes holding hands and sometimes gesturing in animated ways as they talked. It was after they had dinner at a cafe that everything came crumbling down. 

They were heading to the bus stop, Cassie planning on taking it to her home, when they were interrupted. A man Jocelyn didn’t recognize grabbed the redhead, yanking her back, as Jo was shoved forward; she stumbled, nearly taking a fall. With the little skirt she wore, legs bare, that would have resulted in skinned knees. 

Cassie shoved at her assailant – until a knife was pulled out and held at her throat. Both women froze, staring at the blade in horror. 

“D-don’t,” Jo choked out. 

“Jo?” Cassie breathed, terrified. 

Lifting her hand towards them, Jo tried, “It’s okay, just stay still…” 

Then, angry, a voice reached them: “Where’s your fuckin’ boyfriend now?” 

Jo glanced over, assessing what was happening. Four men, not one, she saw – and one of them was staring at her hard, face pinched in rage. Who the hell was he supposed to be? 

“I-I don’t – who’re you?” she demanded, caught somewhere between fear for her sister and anger towards the man bitching at her. “I don’t know you!” 

That only seemed to anger him further. “Oh, you don’t remember?” he snapped. He swung his arm at her and she pivoted, covering her head – a sharp pain hit her in the back alongside a loud _crack_ , realizing a little too late that the halter top she wore left her back completely unprotected. 

She yelped from the pain, staggering. When she looked back at him again, caught in disbelief that this was happening on a public freaking street, she saw he was holding something in his hand – a car antenna? 

“What the _fuck?!”_ she blurted. “What’d I ever do to you?!” The pain was making her eyes water and her voice waver, but she was angrier than ever. She wanted to crack this guy’s skull – but she couldn’t act with Cassie held hostage like that. 

For Cassie, Jocelyn had no choice but to hold still. 

“Oh, so you forgot?” he intoned. “How convenient! I haven’t forgot – not you _or_ your crazy boyfriend! Well, this is revenge, cunt – you’re payin’ for _his_ actions!” He swung again and Jocelyn ducked down, the antenna whizzing by her hair. 

When she looked up again, searching her memories, it finally clicked. The black hair, the weak goatee, the tan skin – she didn’t know the guy’s name, had never bothered to check, but _this_ was the asshole who’d propositioned her two freaking months ago. The one in the subway, the one Raphael had terrorized. 

“Oh, my god,” she huffed. “Are you fuckin’ serious? You have any idea what he’s gonna do to you for this? You’re _dead_ , dumbass!” 

At that, the guy’s three friends started shifting, uncomfortable. One of them murmured to another, “She with a gang member or somethin’?”

The other replied, “I don’t wanna get mixed up in gang shit…” 

Her assailant chided the two, “He’s not in a gang! Anyway, he’ll never know, once we kill this bitch and her friend!” 

Ice went through Jocelyn’s veins and she saw Cassie start to shiver. 

“Oh, he’ll know,” she warned. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. There’s nowhere in this world you could hide from him.” 

Even more pissed off at that – perhaps hiding his own fears from her words – he turned on her again, and she had nowhere to go to avoid his next swing. The antenna _cracked_ against her skin again, so much harder than the first time that she couldn’t withhold a scream. 

Sucking in a shaky breath, tears started to ease out from the pain, she hissed, “You’re so fuckin’ dead, motherfucker. He’s gonna tear you apart.” 

A smarter person would’ve quit while they were ahead. This guy, though? Well, Jocelyn already knew he couldn’t take a hint, couldn’t reason. Rather than take her words of warning, cutting out now, he went crazy. That antenna pelted against her back time and again, a flurry of blows causing her so much pain that her one grateful thought was that each strike was so close to the next. Cassie screamed, begging for the beating to stop. 

Jocelyn’s back felt like it was on fire, and she was sure she was feeling blood after a little while of this, but at least the short time between strikes meant each one dulled the next. She still ended up in agony, shaky and crying from the assault – but she comforted herself with the thought that Raphael was going to literally kill this man. 

Blood for blood. 

The more she saw her own blood start to stain the sidewalk, the more she knew how this story was going to end. 

Then someone intervened. She heard someone yell at her attacker, saw booted feet cross her line of sight, heard the four guys run. She could barely breathe by now, but she yelled out, “Shoulda cut your losses in the subway!” 

This was her final calculated decision: giving Cassie and whoever that was who’d helped her a shred of information. As Cassie knelt and hugged her, now that the attack was over Jocelyn knew there was no way she’d hang onto consciousness. 

Her mind retreated, leaving her blissfully numb. 

* * *

Raphael was pacing, “agitated” too mild of a word to explain how he felt right then. Jocelyn had been taken to a hospital and he was there now, the building in sight from his place on a nearby one. He wanted to go in there, find her room, and check on her in person. 

His brothers kept from doing it, though. _  
_

_She’s in good hands now,_ Leo told him. 

_Let the doctors do their work,_ Donny said. 

_She’ll be fine, just let her rest,_ Mikey promised. 

Raph barely heard them. He knew they were right, that the best thing for Jocelyn right now was to let her receive the care she needed. But he still didn’t know what had happened, and that left him frantic. The only information they’d been able to get had been that a street assault had taken place and Jocelyn was unconscious. 

They had no idea how bad her wounds were – or, the tiny voice of hope added, if she’d been injured at all. She could’ve just fainted. 

Raphael couldn’t imagine her _just fainting_ , though. She was too strong for that. 

Every minute that passed only increased his need to reach her. He kept telling himself that he couldn’t just barge in there, but this limbo of not knowing anything was the worst. Donny kept listening in on the police scanners; so far all he’d gathered was that a manhunt was ongoing and there were, apparently, four suspected participants. 

And then Raph spotted someone exiting the hospital, someone he recognized from even this far away. That auburn hair and thin frame, the pale skin – it was Cassie. She was hugging herself, an officer escorting her out with an arm around her shoulders. 

“Cassie,” Raph breathed. If she was there, then she was a witness – he hoped. Ignoring his brothers’ protests, he dropped down to the ground and maneuvered closer, crouching behind a dumpster in an alleyway once he was as close as he could get. 

One by one, his brothers dropped down to his place, watching. 

“Who’s Cassie?” Mikey whispered. 

“Jocelyn’s best friend,” Raph whispered back. 

“Okay,” Leo began, equally quiet, “but don’t just go popping out at her–”

“We’ve already met,” Raphael interrupted him, still focused on the girl. She was nodding to the officer now, teary-faced, as he rubbed her shoulders and spoke to her. 

Raph didn’t have to look to know Leo was glowering at him right then. He’d never told them that he’d met Cassie, though there’d been no reason for that other than that it’d never come to mind. 

He added now, “She knows about you guys, too. You might shock her, but she knows.” 

Leo huffed a sigh. 

Finally, though, Cassie started walking away and the officer turned around to head to his vehicle. Raphael got up and started maneuvering around the building beside him, following the girl’s path. When he was close enough, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out to her. 

She jolted, glancing around. Raph jumped and waved his arms, hoping she’d notice his shadow moving between the buildings he was using as cover. After a moment, she did, eyes snagging on his outline. He waved her over. 

Glancing around for the activity, she did so, hurrying across the street to his place. “What’re you doing here?” she hissed when she was close enough. 

She looked scarred, he saw, her skin still pale and her eyes wide and scared. With tear tracks down her face and puffiness to her bloodshot eyes, she looked even worse. 

Whatever had happened to Jocelyn, it’d caused Cassie a huge amount of distress – and that meant Raphael was going to be even worse off. 

He bit out, “What happened to Jocelyn?” 

Immediately her eyes filled up again, watering. Lips trembling, she sucked in a harsh breath, then started, “S-some guy attacked her…” 

That fit with what Raphael had already known, but hearing Cassie confirm it made it _real_. He felt a sudden, almost debilitating need to hunt down the fucker and rip his head off. “What. Happened?” he repeated, voice hard. 

She was shaking her head, words catching in her throat. “I-I don’t know, these four guys j-just showed up…out of nowhere…and…” Covering her mouth, face crumbling, she keened, the high-pitched wail hitting him right in the heart. 

He couldn’t deal with all this. Between Jocelyn being hurt – the very knowledge of it hurting _him_ – his desire to spill blood, and Cassie’s obvious trauma, he was completely overwhelmed. He wanted to soothe the girl in front of him, gather up Jocelyn and run away with her, go on a hunt to exact revenge, and scream until his throat was raw. 

Then Mikey was there, hands out, venturing, “Hey, hey girl, it’s okay, everything’s over now.” 

Cassie jolted at the newcomer’s voice, gaze swinging around to him. One by one Raph’s brothers emerged from the darkness, moving slow to avoid startling her. 

When he was close enough, Mikey eased a hand towards the girl. She flinched a little when he touched her shoulder, but didn’t resist as he drew her into his arms, giving her a comforting embrace. Between petting her hair and rubbing her back, cooing placations all the while, Cassie started to relax. 

Mikey was amazing like that. When he wasn’t being an annoying, incorrigible airhead, he had a natural ability to connect with others. He – and, in fact, _they_ – had used this predilection of his numerous times in the past to calm down hysterics. 

Raph had never been more grateful for that than he was now. Cassie was still losing tears, but her verbal cries had eased. 

Trying to keep his own voice as calm and steady as he could – practically an impossibility at this point – he ventured, “Okay, Cassie…can you tell me what happened now?” 

She was shaking hard, but she nodded. She explained, then, that someone had grabbed her and put a knife at her throat. Another guy had started beating on Jocelyn with some kind of metal rod, striking her in the back over and over. Cassie had seen her best friend’s back splitting open from the hits, the event likely causing _her_ more trauma than it would cause _Jocelyn_ – because she’d seen _everything_. 

By the end of her recounting, Raphael was shaking in place, only able to keep still by locking down all his muscles. _Don’t rage,_ he told himself firmly. _You swore you wouldn’t fall again._

But he hadn’t foreseen this event when he’d made that promise. He hadn’t known his blood could boil this hot, that his hands could clench this hard – despite how small his nails were, blood dripped from his fists. 

He _needed_ to kill. 

Donny and Leo, while Raph was caught in his self-imposed prison, were digging for more information. 

“Can you recall who did it?” Donny asked. 

Shaking her head, Cassie answered, “I d-didn’t recognize him…some Mexican guy, I think…”

“Do you remember anything he said?” Leo checked. “Anything at all?”

She hesitated, thinking, then nodded. To Raphael, she said, “He…he knew you. Said he was… _punishing_ Jocelyn…because of you…”

Horror suffused Raph at the words. Cassie’s tone wasn’t accusatory, but he could see her slowly starting to blame him for Jocelyn’s pain. 

Diverting Cassie’s attention, Donny interrupted, “Anything else? Anything we could use to identify him?” 

“A particular scar, a tattoo, anything?” Leo added. 

Shaking her head, Cassie said, “No, he was…normal, I guess?” Then, hesitating, she added, “Jo said something, though…that he should’ve cut his losses in the subway?” 

That was it. That was the crippling blow that destroyed Raphael. Shock all but threw him back from her, hitting the wall behind him and sliding down to the ground. 

_Alejandro_. 

Raph’s efforts at getting the guy to better himself had backfired – _horrendously_. Instead of straightening out his life, Alejandro had grown paranoid and angry…and Jocelyn…

Jocelyn was so easily recognizable, even for New York. Her height stood out, her blonde curls were hard to forget, her graceful walk memorable. There was no way anyone would just _forget_ her – and for Alejandro, he’d probably thought about that day over and over in his mind. By now Jocelyn would be cemented in his memory. 

He would’ve recognized her in a heartbeat. 

Raph’s shock was so great that everything else was blocked out for several long moments. He didn’t know what the others were saying, wasn’t aware when he was questioned. Guilt and horror flowed through him, realizing that his actions had directly resulted in the woman he loved ending up in the hospital. 

Little by little, though, everything was eclipsed by a rising anger. Raphael had done everything he could to help Alejandro shape up – instead, he’d only become a worse person. And attacking Raphael’s lover? That was an inexcusable crime. 

That little fucker was about to die. 

As soon as someone touched his shoulder, Raphael was snapping out of it. His mind now seized on a new task: hunting. He jolted to his feet and took off without a thought, his mind already preparing a map of the city for him to follow. First stop: Alejandro’s apartment. 

Jocelyn would be okay. She was being cared for. The only thing left to do, then, was exact revenge.


	36. Just Desserts

**Rating:** R (swearing/violence)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Raphael was in a… _strange_ state of mind. Maybe it was his more recent blow-up and subsequent horror at himself, but despite how much rage he was feeling, his mind was oddly clear. He knew where he was going, what he had to do, who his target was. A few choice words keep going around in his head, too – Cassie’s recounting of the event. 

_Blood. Screaming. Crying. Stitches. Anger. Subway._ Together they painted a picture: what had happened, how Jocelyn felt, and who had done it. 

He gave himself over to the fury, letting it drive him. He was so focused, in fact, that his brothers were having trouble keeping up; Donny had opted to stay behind, keeping them updated on the events going on in the hospital, but Mikey and Leo were right on Raph’s tail. 

Or, at least, in sight of it. 

When Raphael finally reached the roof of a nearby building to Alejandro’s apartment, he didn’t pause to think. He leapt. A climbing pick on a chain was his only tool, and he threw it at the ledge above the window as he drew close; the chain jerked taut and swung him through that window feet-first in a rain of shattered glass. It was dark inside, but his eyes had already adjusted to the low light of night. He saw just fine, and he saw first that the apartment was empty. 

But there were bound to be clues in here, so he started digging. Soon Mikey and Leo had joined him; he brushed off their words as they tried to talk to him. He went through all the papers and letters haphazardly tossed on a table, looking for names and numbers. 

Leonardo kept trying for patience, though by now Mikey had joined Raph’s search. And, little by little, Leo got louder, trying to break through Raph’s perceptions and get his attention. 

“–alright, Raph?” he was saying, the words hard. “We’re going to find him, we’re going to contact the police, he’s going to confess, and then he’s going to prison. Understand?” When Raphael didn’t respond, he shoved the bigger man’s arm, snapping, “Raph!”

“I heard you!” Raphael shot back. He didn’t spare Leo a glance, though, instead continuing his agitated flips through papers. 

“Which means,” Leo intoned, every syllable emphasized, “we are _not_ going to _kill him_.” 

At that, Raphael turned a hard look on his brother. He hissed, “You have no idea how this feels, do you?” 

Hesitating, Leo answered, “I’m getting a pretty strong impression from you, if that counts for anything. But no matter what, we don’t _break_ things, Raph – we don’t _kill_. End of story.” 

Raph’s back straightened, his shoulders drawing back, a whole new wave of anger hitting him. “Jocelyn coulda been killed today. That was Alejandro’s _intent_. You gonna sit there and tell me he don’t deserve to die for tryin’ to kill her?” 

And Leo replied, “That’s for the courts to decide.” 

Throat crowding with emotion, Raphael hissed, “Do you even care about her? That she was _attacked?”  
_

“Of course I do,” Leo answered, sounding offended. “It hurts me, too. I want to go and break this guy’s neck, same as you – but justice supersedes emotion. Raph, we _can’t_ kill him.” 

This talk was accomplishing nothing. Raph turned from his brother with a huff, resuming his search. But as he dug through more useless junk, he heard himself biting out, “He did this to hurt _me_. Not her.” 

“Raph…” Leo ventured, quiet. Stepping closer, he placed a hand on Raphael’s arm – but this one wasn’t meant to gain attention or restrain. The touch was one of familial solidarity. 

It was clear, then, that while Leo might not know exactly how Raph felt, he understood _enough_. He was concerned for Jocelyn, too – he wanted revenge, too. Hell, he even agreed with Raph’s desire for blood. But their natures differed enough that while Raph was lost to bloodlust, Leo retained his critical, analytical mind. 

That kind of pissed of Raphael even more – yet a part of him felt grateful. _Someone_ had to keep their head on straight, and right then it was _not_ going to be him. But it was hard to feel anything aside from anger, so all his reactions were limited. He couldn’t give Leo a smile and thank him for retaining sanity in this insane moment; all Raph could do was glower, scowl, and _try_ to keep his grip from breaking everything in sight. 

Not that he cared about Alejandro’s apartment, of course. He was just afraid that the moment he let go of his impulses, something far worse than a destroyed room was going to come from it. 

“Guys,” Mikey interrupted suddenly, a pocket-sized notebook in his hands. “Think I got somethin’. Look,” he offered, coming over as Raph and Leo approached him. “Phone numbers,” he explained. 

Finally, the first whiff they needed to hunt down his target. As Raph praised Mikey with a, “Good job, little bro,” Leo took the notebook and analyzed it. Then, contacting Donny via radio, he read off the numbers on that page. 

While Donny ran the information, Raph went digging further – and uncovered a pistol. It was loaded, under Alejandro’s mattress, and he felt a mixture of relief that the turd hadn’t had it with him today and a sudden, dawning horror at just how far Alejandro’s paranoia had gone. 

Under that, however, was a new, rising fury. He hadn’t really let himself believe it until now, but Alejandro _had_ intended to kill Jocelyn. Regardless of how Raphael’s own actions had helped shape this event, Alejandro had still made the choice to commit murder – and he’d been willing to kill someone innocent of all wrongdoing just to hurt the one who wasn’t. Hell, he’d been willing to kill an innocent girl just to keep the murder quiet. 

He didn’t deserve his life any longer, Raphael decided. 

He unloaded the clip, then wrenched the gun in his hands until its screws broke and it fell to pieces. As it crumbled on the floor, he realized one more thing – for the gun to still be here after he’d assaulted Jocelyn, then Alejandro must not have returned – such a paranoid man would have come back for it if he could. By now he knew what was coming (Raph), and he’d been just smart enough to know he couldn’t risk coming back to his apartment. 

He was running. 

In an almost ironic turn of events, Raphael felt…calm. For all his pacing earlier, he was now in control, standing still and waiting for the information he sought to be delivered. He stood in the bedroom doorway, watching his brothers, pinpoint focused. They looked uncomfortable, he noted. Probably unsure how to handle him now that his rage reached a peak so high it’d turned back around and left him almost _relaxed_. 

He thought of Alejandro, pictured his face and recalled his scent. He thought of Jocelyn, how she felt in his arms, her laughter and smile and warm eyes. He thought of Cassandra, how she’d cried and trembled as she retold what had happened tonight. And he thought of what he was going to do when he finally had Alejandro in his grasp. 

They were violent, bloody thoughts. Split skin, broken bones, blood spraying and screams echoing. He imagined what it would feel like to crush a skull in his hands, the heat of fresh blood on his skin, the satisfaction that would inevitably follow every action. And along with these thoughts, he planned. 

With every second he waited, he planned. 

* * *

It didn’t take very long for Donatello to uncover the information they needed. Three of the seven phone numbers he’d been given were for cell phones, and through hacking he found all three pinging off the same satellites. Crossing that information with the names and registered addresses of the owners determined all four – Alejandro included – were likely at one of the men’s houses. 

It took mere minutes for the three brothers to converge there, casing the house. And it was, indeed, a house; this was a residential area. It was a small house compared to others nearby, but well-tended. The paint was bright, the lawn mowed, nothing broken or in need of repair. And, behind the curtains, shadows kept moving, more than one occupant pacing. Loud, arguing voices reached the turtles from across the street. 

Raphael was still razor-sharp, gaze snagging on every detail he could see. He analyzed the heights of the shadows he kept seeing, trying to judge who was who based on that. Alejandro wasn’t very tall for a human, but it was starting to look like he was the tallest of his friends. 

Eventually their argument turned physical and a fight broke out between two of them. Louder, more agitated shouts echoed from the house, and soon Alejandro was shoved out of the home by another. They cursed at one another, and Raphael clearly heard the other man shout, “You ain’t allowed back here, man! Talkin’ like that… _fuck_ you!” 

He had a Spanish accent, Raphael noted, though Alejandro himself didn’t. 

Alejandro snapped, “Gonna turn away your own cousin?!” 

“I will when he’s endangering my own kids!” the cousin shot back. 

Another man exited the house, shuffling past the owner and standing alongside Alejandro. “We’re in this _together_ now,” he said. 

The fourth man, Raphael saw, was still in the house, standing behind the ‘cousin’ and shaking his head. 

The owner of the home stepped out, speaking lower and more calmly to the other two – too low for Raphael to hear. But whatever he said made the others leave, striding out to a car. Alejandro got in the passenger side, his friend clearly the owner. Both were tense and agitated. 

The attack had clearly fractured the relationship between the four perpetrators, and Raphael felt no sympathy for that. The two in the house were still on his shit-list for letting Alejandro do what he’d done, but the fact that they’d turned him away was a shining point in their favor. 

To the radio, Leo said, “Donny, contact the police.” 

As the three brothers left, following after that car, Donny replied, “Left an anonymous tip. They’ll be there in a few minutes.” 

Good. 

Revenge was nearly in Raphael’s grasp, and it only got better when the car veered off the main roads. They were obviously trying to avoid patrols and attention, but all they’d done was isolate themselves. As the vehicle drove closer and closer to the waterside, Raphael’s nerves ramped up higher. 

He was so ready to drop in on them. In fact…he liked that idea. 

Coordinating with Leo and Mikey, once the vehicle was on a dirt road Leo and Raph tossed Mikey ahead. With his board, the youngest had little trouble maneuvering to the front of the car – and then he dropped down, landing on the hood so hard it dented and broke, the car pitching up at the hind end as the front end dug into the ground. 

High-pitched screams came from the occupants as the car swerved and pitched, the frantic steering combined with its current angle making it flip onto the driver’s side. Mikey just leapt back, his momentum making him take a few steps before he could stop and watch. 

Leo was next, Raph swinging him around once to get enough speed for the throw. Leo’s landing put him flat-footed on the ground on the vehicle’s other side, and a strong kick to the trunk stopped its forward slide. Plumes of dirt kicked up, briefly shrouding Leo in it before it cleared. 

Raphael was last, hearing all kinds of panicked shouts and screeching from the car as he approached. Once he was close enough – the driver trying to start the engine again, from the sound of it, which would’ve been amusing if Raphael weren’t so pissed off – he grabbed the passenger-side door and _yanked_ , pulling the car back onto its wheels in one heave. 

As the vehicle was righted, the occupants inside saw they were surrounded – Raph on one side, Leo on the other, Mikey in front. The two men promptly freaked the fuck out. 

Alejandro hadn’t been wearing his seatbelt, Raph saw. He was pressed flat against his friend from the fall, and when he saw _Raphael_ there he went into a full panic. Arms and legs flailed in a desperate, animalistic bid to escape, clumsily striking his friend repeatedly as he clawed his way to the back seat. He tried to shove open the driver-side door, but the skidding on its side had wrecked the handle. 

Offering a hand of help, Raphael moved to the opposite back door and ripped it off, tossing the metal sheet behind him without a care. Leo did a similar move, yanking open the driver’s door as the metal whined against the effort. He grabbed the driver by the arm, hauling him out; Raphael seized Alejandro’s flailing leg and did the same. 

Both humans were fighting in the most ridiculous, uncoordinated ways, legs and arms blindly swinging. It was the most ineffective form of fighting Raphael had ever seen. 

As Raphael just gave Alejandro a dark grin, murmuring, “Remember me?” Leo was pushing his captive against the car. 

“You need medical attention,” the eldest commented – punctuating his words with a right hook to the man’s jaw. Blood splattered the car and the ground from the hit, a satisfying _crack_ echoing through the area. 

One-and-done – that driver took one hit and was full-on unconscious. Leo let him drop, not even bothering to stop the fall. He did, however, check the man’s clothing, and after a moment he retrieved a knife. 

As he held it up for the others to see, Mikey commented, “What ya wanna bet that’s the one that threatened Cassie?” 

“We’ll find out for sure when they confess,” Leo told him. 

Now, as Raph held Alejandro by the neck, he quipped, “This’s a familiar feeling, ain’t it?” 

Alejandro couldn’t breathe to answer, and he was clearly too terrified to form words anyway. Raph soaked it up, the human’s fear feeling great to him right then. And having his hands _on_ the man, having him right there in Raph’s grasp, was the best and worst thing wrapped into one. 

It made his blood boil, all his muscles _itching_ to act, and he both loved and hated the feeling. A part of him constantly wanted to be better than he was, to stop losing his head to anger, but the rest…

…the rest reminded him that Jocelyn loved him _as he was_. She’d never shown an issue with his anger – the times she’d lain into him, it was always over his _fears_. She’d had no complaints whatsoever with his ranted retellings of stories or the few times she’d witnessed him physically kicking some ass. 

She calmed him down when incidents were finished, but she never intervened unless he was in the wrong. 

He wasn’t in the wrong now. She’d approve of this. 

A little idea popped into his head, something he hadn’t thought of during all his planning. “That’s right,” he mused, “I promised to break your jaw, didn’t I?”

Alejandro peed himself. 

Grimacing, nose scrunching from the offending odor, Raph held him at arm’s length. 

“Ugh, geez,” Mikey gagged, waving at the air in front of his face, “that’s _rank_.” 

Leo was more composed, striding around the vehicle. He chided, “Raph, drop him. He can’t breathe.” 

Raphael scowled at his brother. “Ask me if I care,” he quipped. If anything, his grip tightened, enjoying the way Alejandro’s squirms and kicks were gradually weakening. 

“ _I_ care,” Leo returned. Reaching out, he snagged Raph’s wrist; the younger brother allowed it. Then, fingers in a particular spot, Leo squeezed; Raph’s grip loosened, his muscles forced to relax. The human dropped from his fist. 

This was partly an act, something they’d orchestrated on the way over. It was designed to terrify Alejandro, the brothers’ little miniature show of revenge. 

But Raph still hadn’t wanted to let go. He’d been enjoying the way Alejandro’s skin had changed colors from the lack of oxygen. 

And now, seeing the man crumpled on the ground, a sudden vision came to mind. Spurred on by Cassie’s recounting, in Raph’s mind he saw Jocelyn curled up on the sidewalk, her back bloody from the beating she’d endured. 

The haze dropped for the second time in his life. 

He barely heard his name being called as his foot lifted, his brothers too slow to restrain him or get Alejandro out of the way. His massive two-toed foot slammed into the human, sending the man skipping along the dirt and grass with an agonized yelp. 

Raph followed, hands going for his sai. As the human gasped in ragged breaths, shuddering from pain and spitting up blood, Leo and Mikey attempted to divert Raphael’s charge. They went so far as to draw their weapons to fight his, but he didn’t engage them – the tiniest thread of sanity prevented him from using his weapons on his own brothers. 

He hadn’t used them the time he’d gone for Donny, either. 

As Alejandro tried to crawl away, beaten, shamed and stinking of piss, Raphael kept trying to sidestep his brothers, eyes locked on the human. They weren’t letting him pass, though, and after a few moments he had to refocus on them. His mind made a simple equation: they were between him and his target; ergo, they were obstacles. 

That refocusing granted him another shred of sanity, and he growled out, “You wanna get the fuck outta my way,” to the both of them. 

“Raph, we are _not_ killing him,” Leo told him. 

“No – _we_ aren’t,” he agreed. 

“C’mon, Raph, think,” Mikey pressed. “He can’t confess if he’s dead.” 

“And you’ll be guilty of murder,” Leo agreed. “The police will be forced to hunt us.” 

“You’ll never be able to visit Jocelyn again,” Mikey added. 

_That_ got through to Raphael, but his frustration at having to stop now made him throw his head back and _scream_. His deep voice reverberated through the night as he spun around and stalked away, looking for something to destroy. His eyes landed on a tree; he threw his sai at it, one after the other, getting them embedded in the trunk. 

Sighing with relief, his brothers turned on Alejandro. The human flinched, holding his chest, blood coating his chin from how much he’d coughed up. 

Leo crouched in front of him, gaze hard. “Here’s what’s going to happen now,” he started, voice threatening. “Police and medical professionals are going to show up. You’re going to confess to attempted murder, assault and battery. You’re going to tell your friend to do the same. You’ll be taken into custody, given medical treatment, and ultimately, be sent to prison. And you’re going to thank your lucky stars every fucking day that we managed to stop my brother from tearing you apart.” 

When Alejandro looked between the two, terrified and crying and shaking, Mikey added, “That girl you attacked is our family. Remember that next time you decide to attack someone – remember they got a family, too.” 

Leo was already calling in the location, checking the unconscious driver for an ID as he gave information. Raphael, on the other hand, was huffing, breathing hard, his mind spinning. He’d had Alejandro so close, in his grasp, and he’d been forced to let him go. 

And then he remembered his promise again. Turning around on his heel, he stalked to the human and lifted him up by his shirt; Alejandro shoved at the hand holding him, dazedly calling for help. 

Raph swung, aiming for the fucker’s jaw – his hand met resistance, finding with surprise that Mikey had caught his throw. 

“He can’t confess with a broken jaw,” Mikey reminded him. 

_God fucking damn it!  
_

Raph shoved Alejandro to the ground, still pissed – now namely because he hadn’t even been able to bloody his fists with the fucker’s face. 

To the man, Mikey quipped, “Right now, you’re the luckiest son of a bitch alive.” 

“Police and an ambulance are on the way,” Leo informed them. “We’re on the move.” 

Raphael started to retreat – then, eying Alejandro, he decided that he had to _make sure_ the human couldn’t get away before police arrived. So he lifted his foot again – the human yelped and tried to scramble away – and stomped down on Alejandro’s ankle. 

There was an exceedingly satisfying _crunch_ as bones snapped and ground. The man wailed and warbled, likely in enough pain from his chest wound that his broken bones hadn’t hurt as much as it could’ve. Lucky for him, then. 

Leaning down, Raph grabbed him by the neck and hissed, “Don’t go anywhere.” Mikey yanked on Raph’s arm then, urging him to back off. 

He wasn’t completely happy with the turn of events, but the visual of Alejandro like that, on the ground with blood on his face and his leg in an unnatural angle, made him feel better. The man was barely clinging to consciousness at this point, holding his knee with one hand and his chest with the other, breathing ragged and eyes blank. 

Later, after he’d confessed, Raphael would come see him again. One last visit. 

* * *

Awareness came slowly to Jocelyn, slower than it usually did. Her mind was actively resisting thought, leaving her dazed and confused. She was on her stomach in a bed, but it wasn’t one she recognized. It felt like her head was constantly wobbling, and she had to grasp her own skull to make sure it wasn’t. 

When she tried to push herself up, though, two things stopped her: a hand grasping her forearm, and an incredible amount of pain ripping through her back. She yelped, settling back down with an agonized moan. 

What the hell had happened…? Her memories were being unhelpful, her slow mind having difficulty thinking back. She turned her head to the side when she heard her name, though, spotting her mother beside her. And was her hair in a bun? It felt like it was up in a bun…

“Just stay still,” Cecilia whispered. There were tear tracks down her face, her dark skin pale from fear. Cecilia’s skin was normally significantly darker than Jocelyn’s was, but right then it was almost grey. 

As her mother took her hand, Jocelyn murmured, “Where am I?”

“We’re in a hospital,” Cecilia told her, her voice tight and broken. “You were attacked.” She sucked in a breath as she finished speaking, on the verge of tears. 

“Oh,” was Jo’s reply. It took a few more moments, and then details began reaching her again. The attack…the pain…Cassie… 

… _Cassie!  
_

Gasping, she caught her mother’s eyes, demanding, “Is Cassie okay?” 

Cecilia gave a weak, strangled laugh. “You wake up in a hospital and your first thought is if Cassie is okay…” 

“There was a guy,” Jocelyn told her, “he was holding a knife to her throat… _is she okay?”  
_

“Yes, love, she’s okay,” Cecilia promised. “She wasn’t hurt. She was here with you for a while, talking to the police. She went home a few hours ago.” 

Relaxing, Jocelyn sank into the mattress, relieved. Then her mind finally started working again, analyzing things. Her back had hurt when she went to get up, but it didn’t now – was she on painkillers? And she recalled seeing and feeling blood. As those thoughts returned, a chill went through her. 

How badly was she hurt? She shifted, testing her limbs, and sighed to find that her legs felt just fine. For a moment she’d been terrified that her spine might have been damaged, that her legs…

God, she couldn’t even _think_ it. 

Now, as Cecilia reached out and began petting her hair, she thought of her attacker. “What about the guy…did he get caught?” 

Nodding, her mother answered, “All four were taken into custody a little while ago. The one who attacked you…his name was Alejandro. He got beat up pretty bad. Car crash.” 

‘Car crash’, huh? Jocelyn might be a little slow right then, but she could tell when her boyfriend had been involved in something. If there’d been a car accident, it’d been his doing, somehow. 

She was happy with that. 

“Mom?” she said now. “How…how bad is it?” 

Cecilia’s eyes filled and she took a shuddering breath. Then her attention diverted, lifting; she looked beyond Jocelyn. When Jo turned her head to look, she saw a doctor stepping through the doorway. 

He was a dark-skinned man with a buzzed head, and his smile was warm when he saw Jocelyn was awake. Folding his arms around the clipboard he held, he said, “Good to see you’re awake. Can you tell me how you feel?” 

“My head’s all muddy,” she admitted. “It hurts when I move, but it’s okay when I sit still. Who’re you?” 

“Dr. Moore,” he answered. “You can call me James. You said your head is muddy?” 

“‘S hard to think,” she told him. 

Putting his clipboard before him, he wrote something down, then asked, “Does it cause you distress?” 

“Kinda?” she hedged. “I don’t like it.” 

Nodding, he said, “We’ll give it a little time, if you’re okay with that. If it doesn’t let up I can change your prescriptions.” 

Prescriptions? “I have more than one?” The painkillers were the only ones that came to mind. 

Speaking gently, he explained, “You came in with multiple lacerations. We put you on antibiotics to help prevent any infections and morphine for the pain. Once you’ve had some time to adjust, we’ll talk about a prescription analgesic for you to take home.” 

Oh. Yeah, that made sense. “What time is it?” she wondered aloud. 

“Almost 3:30,” Cecilia told her. 

Confused, Jo checked, “A-M or P-M?” 

“A-M.” 

Her mind immediately seized on the desire to see Raphael. She yearned to have him here, to be able to rest in his arms. “Okay,” she said, starting to push herself up – carefully, “I’d like to go home now–”

Both her mother and her doctor disagreed, guiding her back down. She wanted to fight them, but their combined strength plus the pain in her back won out. She laid back down. 

“Not yet,” Cecilia said. 

“We want to watch you for twenty-four hours,” Dr. Moore agreed. “Just to make sure there’s no infections already. If there is, we’ll need to know as soon as possible. Just relax for now, and if you need anything…” He leaned over, picking up a little remote attached to the bed. “This button,” he directed, “will alert a nurse.“ 

She nodded. “Alright, I got it.” She took the remote, looking it over, noting the buttons and making sure her sluggish mind recognized them all before putting it back down again. 

“Now, I need to warn you,” he started, both gentle and firm. “Your back…is going to need some time. We stitched up the worst areas, and you’re going to need to be careful while it heals. We don’t want you having to come back here every week with your progress reset because you keep popping your stitches.” 

It took her a moment to make sense of his words, and then she asked, “How many stitches?”

He hesitated to answer that, then told her, “Fifty-three.” 

_God._ Her back was going to be a mass of scars, wasn’t it? Horror suffused her – it was going to be so _ugly_ , and she couldn’t help thinking of how crushed Raphael was going to be. Then, wincing, she thought of her ballet. It was barely over a month away. She ventured, “How long will it take to heal?” 

“Five weeks is the average for this level of damage, but that can be cut down with proper care and nutrition,” he answered. 

That was that, then. All her work for Denise’s character and she wouldn’t even be able to participate in the play. Sure, she might have healed by opening day, but she wouldn’t be able to practice in the meantime. Sighing, she told herself it wasn’t a big deal. She’d said to Raphael once that it didn’t matter if her character or role got cut; she’d never forget everything she’d learned. 

Now that she was facing the reality of it, however, she found herself growing despondent. _Great._ She couldn’t help feeling disappointed and angry, her efforts wasted, despite how she wanted to look on the bright side of things. 

Evidently she’d wanted to play Denise more than she’d realized. 

With a huff, she turned to look at her mother, asking, “Where’s my phone?” 

Hesitating, Cecilia replied, “Why do you want it?” 

“M’gonna call Raphael,” she explained. She held out her hand, expectant. 

Something hard and hateful burned in her mother’s brown eyes. She replied, “No. It’s late and you need your rest.” 

Jocelyn didn’t like the look she was getting. “So do you,” she pointed out. “Raphael’s gonna be waiting for me to call. Gimme my phone.” 

“I’ve already set up my vacation days,” Cecilia replied. “For the next two weeks I’m going to be with you every minute…unless you get rid of me.” 

“That can be arranged,” Jo hinted. 

Cecilia narrowed her eyes. Dr. Moore cleared his throat, getting their attention. “If you need to use the restroom or if you’re hungry, I can send in a nurse. In the meantime, you’re perfectly okay to use your phone – as long as you don’t perform any strenuous activities with it.” That last was spoken with mild amusement; ‘strenuous activities’ and ‘cell phones’ were hard concepts to cross. 

“I’d like that, thanks,” Jocelyn answered. Then, to her mother, she hinted, “See? Doc says it’s okay. Gimme the phone.” 

Giving a little defeated chuckle, her doctor strode from the room, leaving to fetch a nurse. Cecilia, huffing, retrieved Jo’s phone from her purse, handing it over. 

Shifting carefully, she stuffed the pillow under her shoulders for support and held the phone in front of her. She saw just three texts from Raphael, each one an hour apart: 

[r u ok?]

[let me no when ur up]

[i got you] _  
_

To anyone reading that last line, it probably sounded innocent enough. To Jocelyn, though, he’d just straight-up admitted to having gotten revenge for her. It made her smile, heart giving a warm, sweet pulse. _That’s my baby,_ she thought. 

She texted him back: 

[Miss me? ♥] _  
_


	37. Injured And Bored, This Is The Worst

**Rating:** PG (swearing)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Suffice to say that Raphael was _relieved_ when his phone dinged, alerting him that he had a message. He’d been pumping iron to get out the lingering aggression in him, but the moment he heard that sound, his workout was abandoned. He snatched up the phone _– carefully;_ he was incredibly tense and didn’t want to break it – and checked it. 

It was from Jocelyn. He exhaled sharply, surprised to realize he’d been holding his breath. _Miss me?_ she’d sent with a little heart. He couldn’t help chuckling, even as he felt his eyes water and heart clench. She was awake, which meant she was okay. 

And she’d sent him the most typical response, leaving him oddly joyful for knowing she was incapacitated. He sniffed to push down a wave of emotion, sending back “always” with his own little heart. 

Her response?

[Aww. If you need it, I can phone sex you. ;D] _  
_

Little vixen. Still teasing him from her damn hospital bed. 

He loved her so much… 

They sent messages back and forth – nothing incriminating – for a while, Jocelyn eventually mentioning that her mother was there and that’s why she hadn’t straight-up called. He wanted to call her anyway, but it was late and he guessed Cecilia was asleep. Better not wake her up, he decided. 

Besides, he wasn’t sure he would be able to keep his voice from breaking. 

And then Jocelyn sent, [Mom keeps trying to take the phone from me. Saying I need rest,] and Raphael realized her mother was just being nosy. 

He sent back, [i culd send a dick pic, she wont wach after that,] and it took a little while for a reply to reach him. Then came her response: 

[Oh god don’t make me laugh, it hurts. X’’D] _  
_

Oops. He winced, apologizing for that one. _No more funny Raph,_ he told himself. The conversation didn’t last much longer; after a few more minutes of chatting, Cecilia successfully retrieved the phone. A final message came: 

[This is her mother. I’m holding Jocelyn’s phone for her. Please let her rest. You can talk to her after she’s slept.] _  
_

He was _displeased_ with this, knowing all too well how Jocelyn ticked. If she was up, then she was _up_ , fully ready to take on the day. She would need her phone to keep from getting cripplingly bored. Besides, by this point the two of them were practically connected at the hip – she’d _want_ to keep talking with him. At the very least, it’d distract her from her pain. 

He sent back, [giv her the fone bak, she needs it.] _  
_

No response. Frustrated, he set his phone aside and rubbed his face, going over the information she’d given him so far. She was on morphine and antibiotics, and one of the two was keeping her sluggish (though he’d noticed her texting remained flawless). She had to stay in the hospital until late tonight, close to nine. That meant he couldn’t see her until around ten, when he estimated she’d get home. 

Never had he lamented the hours ahead of him more. 

He flopped back on the heavy weight bench, eying the bar but feeling no inclination to grab it. He’d upped the weight to almost nine hundred pounds for this workout, and he’d managed four sets before feeling the telltale burn in his muscles. It’d helped, that sensation; it made him feel like he was accomplishing something. 

When Jocelyn texted him, he’d been on his seventh set. He felt uncomfortably hot now, and it did its job: blocking out the lingering rage in him. 

Yet, just talking with Jocelyn had done that task better than the weights ever could. In moments he’d felt himself relaxing, just knowing she was on the other side of the phone making him feel weak with relief. 

His workouts had never made him feel weak like that. Only _she_ wielded that power. 

And now he was trapped, damn it. He was relaxed but annoyed, craving Jocelyn – and glaring at the weights. Sighing, he figured he might as well take off the weights before the pole broke. Once they were on the ground, lined up in order of weight, he thought on his next move. Should he just…go to bed? 

Jocelyn wouldn’t, he knew. Unless they put her under, she was going to be up for _hours_. He should at least stay up in case she got her phone back… 

Decided, he took up his cell phone again and strode from the room. Getting his brothers’ attention, he informed them that Jocelyn was awake. Mikey sighed, relieved; Donny nodded, digesting the information; Leo smiled, pleased. As Raphael went on, answering their questions and adding what little he’d gleaned from the conversation, he noticed Splinter was watching him. 

Figuring his father wanted something, he diverted his path to head to Splinter’s alcove. They weren’t allowed in their father’s room, but this alcove was a common place for them to chat with him, one-on-one. 

Reaching that spot, Raphael knelt down at attention. Splinter watched him quietly, clawed hands idly tapping on a small staff he held. 

After a few moments of silence, Raph ventured, “I thought ya wanted ta talk t’me.” 

Tilting his head, Splinter replied, “I was merely curious if _you_ wished to talk.”

….Raph kind of did. Looking away, he said the first thing in his mind: “I wanna see her. Right now.” 

“And what is stopping you?” 

“She’s still in the hospital,” Raph told him, wondering why Splinter bothered to ask that when he would’ve heard Raphael informing his brothers of the same. “It’s public. I can’t just walk in there.” 

“Why not?” Splinter asked. 

For a second Raphael was frustrated. They all knew the reasons why; his father asking that question was pointless. He almost snapped – but a sudden thought stopped him. 

Of course….

Splinter never just spouted random shit. The point of that question was to make Raphael really think about this for the first time – now that he had Jocelyn, all his thoughts needed to shift. He needed to account for her in his life more carefully. His brothers and father were already hidden and could protect themselves. But Jocelyn…

He answered, “Because it could come back on Jocelyn. She could get revealed to the wrong people.” And then she’d get hurt even worse. 

Jocelyn was on the surface. She was untrained. _Vulnerable._ His protective methods until now were insufficient – just keeping her zip code low on crime wasn’t enough anymore. Having her name in Donny’s alert system wasn’t enough anymore. Letting her wander about, living her life away from him and trusting in her ability to protect herself, wasn’t enough anymore. 

God damn it, his frustrations were just mounting now. How could he take care of her if they lived in different worlds? 

Splinter nodded, thoughtful. “I know this level of secrecy is difficult on you, as well it is your brothers,” he began, “but remember that it is undoubtedly difficult on Jocelyn as well. You will need to compromise.” 

That had Raphael’s head dropping, looking down at the ground. His life necessitated secrecy, yes, but his relationship necessitated _more_. He would need to talk with Jocelyn, then. Her leading Alejandro to him had seemed so innocent at the time, but now he recognized the unacceptable risk that it was. 

In the future, they couldn’t risk such a thing again. For her own safety, they would need to avoid _ever_ being seen together. As much as it pained him to think such things, they had no choice. 

Safety was more important – Jocelyn’s _life_ was more important. “Yes, Sensei,” he breathed. 

Splinter smiled, nodding again. “You impressed your father today,” he said. 

Looking up again, Raph checked, “Cause of Alejandro?” 

“Yes,” Splinter agreed. “You controlled yourself very well. Despite all your pain, all your anger, you maintained control.” 

Suddenly ashamed, Raph looked away again. “Not….entirely.” 

“You speak of your blackout?” Splinter asked. When Raph sent him a surprised look, he explained, “Leonardo told me. He also told me how you managed to pull yourself back. Although you did injure the man quite a lot – and for this, I cannot blame you – you did not kill him. I am proud of you,” Splinter told him. 

And Raphael felt like shrinking into his shell. “I _wanted_ t’kill him, Sensei,” he said. “I wanted t’tear him apart, make him scream and beg. I _still_ want it.” 

“And you did not,” Splinter emphasized, reaching out to place a hand on Raph’s shoulder. “You have matured a great deal. This relationship has been wonderful for you.” Then, smiling, he added, “Make sure to keep her safe – and, more importantly, happy.” 

Raphael gave an involuntary grin, looking away as joy and embarrassment battled in him. “Thanks, Dad,” he answered, trying not to let it get to him. 

“Now, rest,” Splinter directed. “I am quite certain Jocelyn will wish to see you as soon as possible.” 

Fuck, yes, she would. Nodding, Raph got to his feet, then bowed. “Thanks…for everything.” 

And, right then, he meant _everything_ – all the sacrifices Splinter had made over their lifetimes, all the training, all the patience and wisdom and observations. Hell, even all the punishments they’d received were, at that moment, appreciated. 

Splinter rose and bowed back, pleased – and Raph maybe (but would never admit!) felt a twinge in his heart. 

After all, having his father bow to _him_ was no small thing. Awkward and a little overwhelmed, he just gave a little wave as he left. 

Mikey, energetic as ever, bounded up to him. “Dude, did Dad just bow to you?” he demanded. 

Raph sent him a smirk. “Yeah, he did,” he agreed. 

Arms wide, the youngest blurted, _“How?”  
_

Patting Mikey on the arm, Raph answered, “You’ll understand when you grow up.” 

His little brother threw an exhausted, annoyed look at him. “Really?” he deadpanned. 

Raph rubbed his head. “Dad’s just proud of me for not killin’ anyone,” he explained. “But growin’ up does have somethin’ to do with it. You’ll get there,” he promised. 

Mikey just shrugged, looking awkward. Then he asked, “So, when you go to see Jo…can I come? I wanna see her, too.” 

Hesitating, Raphael replied, “Prefer not. I’m gonna…need some time alone with ‘er. Get a handle on stuff. You can come next time, a’ight?” 

Though clearly disappointed, Mikey nodded. “Yeah, sure.” 

Giving Mikey another pat, Raph left it at that, heading to his room. He’d replaced his box spring and frame by now – he hadn’t been able to find a metal box spring, but the frame was, so at least he had that. He and Jocelyn had ‘tested’ it a few times already, making sure it was sturdy enough to handle their combined enthusiasm. 

The consensus: it was holding up damn well. 

He avoided testing it further, though, so he never just threw himself on the bed. He crawled in carefully, always listening for telltale creaks. The last thing he wanted was to have to call up April and ask for her help procuring a stronger bed. 

God, that’d be embarrassing. 

* * *

Today was, in short, extremely trying. Jocelyn was bored as hell, thanks to her mother taking her phone. Cecilia had snatched it right out of her hands, then strode far enough away that injured and bedridden Jo couldn’t do a damn thing about it. She just huffed as her mother texted Raphael with her own phone, both of them glowering all the while. 

Soon a nurse (a white man, she saw) arrived to help Jo get up, and she _carefully_ made her way to the bathroom – IV rack in hand, since they didn’t want to take it out yet thanks to how much blood she’d lost. Then he left with a food request to get her something to eat. After relieving herself she tested herself a bit: her pain, her balance, her reach. 

It wasn’t too unlike the morning after a rough round with Raphael, to be honest. She just had to be careful with her steps and not twist or bend. Her arms had a limited range of motion, as well, but she could mostly handle everything herself. 

And then she made the mistake of pulling off her hospital gown to see her back for herself via the bathroom mirror, leaving her in loose medical pants and nothing else. 

It was _horrible_. Most of the wounds were horizontal, but some were at sharper, almost vertical angles – her attacker must have put some thought into his furious, seemingly random strikes. The stitches were a bright blue, stark against her skin. Her back was, for the most part, one giant purple blotch with bloodstains and scabs _everywhere_ , and right then it hurt more to see it than feel it. 

A wave of despair hit her, and she had to fight to stay coordinated enough to put the gown back on. She stood in that bathroom for a minute longer, shaking, struggling to keep from crying. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to cry, but that she knew it would just end up aggravating her wounds to start sobbing. She’d deal with the emotional pain _after_ the physical pain had lessened. 

So she bit her knuckles and tried to picture happier things. Raphael was the first thing to come to mind, the way he looked at her and the feel of his lips when he kissed her. The second thing was her mother and their recent Mother-Daughter Days, how they were _finally_ connecting after a lifetime of little and less effort. Third was Cassie, the two of them sitting cross-legged across from each other as they talked about school and ballet and what amusing YouTube videos they’d found recently. 

None of these things were going to change, Jocelyn told herself. It would take a little while to get everything back on track, for everything to be normal again, but it _would_ happen. And her little mantra worked, her heart and nerves settling as she pictured how the future would inevitably be. 

There was a soft rap on the door. Cecilia’s voice drifted in, “Are you okay, love? Do you need me?” 

She sounded so anxious, and Jo had to smile. “I’m okay, Mom,” she promised. Pushing open the door, she explained, “Just needed a moment to myself.” 

Cecilia sighed, relieved. “Well, if you need me for anything…”

“Honestly, Mom, I just want my phone back,” Jo told her. 

Her mother gave a pained smile. “You need to _rest_ ,” she stressed. 

“I’ve _rested_ for hours already, what I need is a distraction.” 

“There’s a TV in here,” Cecilia pointed out. 

“Mom….” Jocelyn sighed. 

“Besides, your phone won’t last forever,” Cecilia added. “Don’t you want to call your friends later?” 

_Freaking lawyer,_ Jo thought, glowering. “Fine,” she huffed. Making her way back to the bed, she accepted her mother’s aid in taking a seat. Then, crossing her legs and hugging the pillow to her chest, she paid attention to the television, flipping through channels until something mildly interesting caught her eye. It was something of a relief when her nurse returned with a turkey sandwich and juice box, just because it gave her something to _do_. 

Time crept by. And though Cecilia tried to stay awake, she eventually slumped over in her chair, arms crossed on the bed beside Jo to cradle her head. Jocelyn immediately took the opportunity to – _very carefully_ – retrieve her mother’s purse and take her phone back. By now it was dawning so she fully expected her beau to be asleep, but she felt better having it in hand anyway. 

His latest message made her smile, though. He must’ve sent it right before going to bed. 

_see u soon babe  
_

Damn right, he would. She was ready to make demands at this point: “you’ll come see me,” “bring chocolate,” “say goodbye to your bros cause you aren’t seeing them again for two weeks minimum,” “best learn how to wash my hair for me,” “we’re snuggling and that’s final,” and so on. 

She was pretty sure that even if she didn’t make any demands he would still manage to fulfill all of them. He was getting better at reading her, after all; they’d had an argument just last week that ended with her kicking him out. His response? He showed up a half hour later, uninvited, and presented her with a red rose and an apology. 

She’d melted on the spot. Maybe she was just too cliché, but she _loved_ roses, and as soon as he’d figured that out he’d earned a permanent Get Out Of Jail Free card. She just couldn’t stay mad at Raphael – he always managed to get around her pique and back into her heart. 

Maybe that’s why they worked so well. 

Jocelyn messed around with her phone for a while, idly looking between the screen and the television, trying to keep her legs from shaking (a futile endeavor, that), for a few more hours before she got visitors. To her surprise, she heard a small stampede racing down the hall towards her room. When she glanced up, she was surprised but _elated_ to find several of her friends crowding in the doorway. 

Leading the charge, unsurprisingly, was Cassie. But Jocelyn also saw Deborah, Jessica, Mara, Sable, Ginger, Laura, Rosa, Cheyenne, Pamela, Joey, Georgiana, and even Miss Dubois hovering in the back. She even noted four of the boys from the class as well – Eric, Sook, and Richard and Ricardo (or Rich and Rick, as the school liked to call them). 

After spotting the lot of them, Jo looked down at her phone, reading it was barely past seven in the morning. Her friends all hesitated a moment, then started to communally suck in a deep breath – getting ready to scream, Jo knew – and she hurriedly hushed them with her hands. 

“Shh, my mom’s sleeping,” she urged, then glanced at Cecilia to make sure her mother hadn’t been disturbed. 

Cassie helped keep the others under control, and then, one by one, they came in to see her. Everyone else stood out in the hallway while each girl had their moment and gave gifts. It was _extremely_ touching, bringing tears to Jocelyn’s eyes. 

Nearly everyone gave her a “get well soon” type of card, but she was also given four separate bags of goodies (candies, mostly), three balloons, six stuffed animals ranging from beanie babies to a fairly big bear (six, thank _god_ ; it wouldn’t upset the balance of her collection), and Cheyenne had even made her a colorful little woven bracelet. 

No one asked about her wounds, but she noticed no one gave her a hug, either. That meant they knew _enough_ to know her back was off-limits, and she felt incredibly grateful for that. 

They talked as quietly as they could, Jo and the rest, but the activity alone eventually woke up Cecilia. Seeing as how Jocelyn had company, her mother excused herself and headed to the cafeteria for coffee and breakfast. With the room slightly more cleared, her friends filed in, Miss Dubois staying in the doorway. 

Then, concerned, Sable asked, “What happened…?” 

She’d been planning on how to answer that, so Jocelyn answered, “It was just some dude who hated one of my exes. He thought we were still together.” Looking down, she admitted, “I don’t really want to talk about it yet.” 

“Told you,” Cassie hissed at Sable. 

Sable winced. “Sorry,” she murmured. 

“It’s alright,” Jocelyn told her. “It’s a big event, people’re gonna wanna know what happened. I’m just…” She hesitated, then went on, “Not yet, okay?” 

Agreements went around the group. Then came the sadness and tears, Ginger kicking it off with a worry that Jo wouldn’t be able to play Denise when it was time to go to stage. Jocelyn had to fight off tears, herself, as she chided her friends and told them not to cry – it didn’t work very well. Rosa and Georgiana hugged, both of them shuddering and dripping tears as they struggled with their emotions. 

Somehow it made Jo smile. This was the first time she’d been in a situation like this and she was oddly pleased that her friends loved her enough to cry for her. While she saw wet eyes make the rounds, she started laughing. All eyes snapped to her, confused. 

“I love you guys,” she blurted. Almost everyone “awwwww’d” and she was suddenly bombarded with return “I love yous” and hands reaching for hers. 

The girls stuck around, even while her nurse came in to give her the next dose of her meds. They were carrying on for almost an hour before they were interrupted. A pair of officers and a civilian arrived, asking the girls to clear out so they could talk with Jocelyn. 

So they said their goodbyes, the girls filing back out, and Jo turned her attention to the newcomers. 

The officers were both white, she saw, one man and one woman. The civilian, however, was darker-skinned, similar to hers, a clean-shaven man who stood awkwardly with his hands in his pockets. 

The officers went right into a chat about the attack and Jocelyn’s recollections, then informed her when and how the suspects were apprehended. All four confessed to their hands in the crime, but they still wanted Jo to come down to the precinct when she was able to identify them. It was then she learned the names of her assailants for the first time, particularly Alejandro. 

Then they introduced the civilian: Sebastián Valencia. He was the one who’d chased off her attackers. 

He was her savior. 

Giving him a smile, Jocelyn said, “Thank you…you probably saved my life yesterday.” 

Shuffling a little, he shrugged, answering, “It’s a’ight. I’m just sorry I weren’t there sooner.” 

So was she, to be honest. But she replied, “Don’t blame yourself. Their actions were totally on them. You had nothing to do with that.” 

He smiled at her. 

Saying goodbye, the officers left, giving them a moment to chat. At first it was awkward, being alone with this total stranger to whom she owed her life, but after a moment she invited him to sit down. He did, pulling the chair around first so they could sit face to face. 

They talked for a while, and Cecilia came back in the middle of the conversation. She didn’t interrupt, though; she waited outside the room. And as they talked, Jocelyn learned two things in particular about him: he was Spanish (his grandparents immigrated from Spain in the 60s) and he was _adamant_ that she understand Alejandro didn’t represent the Hispanic community in the _least_. 

He was so stressed over this it was almost comical, and Jocelyn had to repeat several times that she was well aware this attack had nothing to do with Alejandro’s race. 

She explained her story to him, that Alejandro was after her only because the opportunity had presented itself – that his anger wasn’t at _her_ , but rather her “ex-boyfriend”. All that managed to do, though, was piss off Sebastian. 

Shaking his head, agitated, he snapped, “I should’ve stomped ‘im.” 

She wasn’t about to argue that. “Yeah, well,” she sighed, flippant, “he got into a car accident that night, so I’d say karma struck him pretty bad.” _Karma….or a six-foot-seven reptile and his similarly-built brothers_ , she added silently. 

To Sebastián, she said, “It’s hard to feel too pissed when I know his recovery’s gonna be longer than mine and he’ll be spending it in prison.” 

Her savior chuckled at that. “You got a funny mind,” he told her. “I don’t know many girls who’d let somethin’ like this go.” 

“Oh, I’m not letting it go,” she promised, “I’m just trying to view it…pragmatically.” 

Laughing, he quipped, “You’re a one-of-a-kind girl.” 

She had to resist the urge to flip her hair at that, recognizing that it was a flirty action and she should _not_ be making flirty actions. Instead, she shrugged (her back gave a little warning twinge at the move). “Ladies like me are a lot more common than you think,” she told him. 

He nodded, digesting that, then gave her a hesitant look that she just _knew_ was romantic in nature. Not wanting to guess, though, she didn’t say anything about it. 

“So, uh,” he started, tentative, “are you…are you Spanish, too?” 

Highly unlikely. “Probably not,” she answered. Now she was _sure_ he wanted to ask her out, so she beat him to the punch, “If you’re thinking of asking me out, let me stop you now. You’re a great guy and I like you, but I’m already seeing someone.” 

His face fell. “Oh…of course you are,” he said to himself. 

Feeling for him, she bit her lip, then said, “Look, Sebastián….you’ve got a fantastic heart. Seriously. Sooner or later that _will_ attract the perfect girl for you.” She paused, then added, “Or guy, if you’re into that.”

He chuckled. “No, I’m not into guys. My brother is, though,” he added, thoughtful. 

She smiled. “Well, if he’s anything like you, I wish you both the best. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you stepped in when you did.” 

He might’ve very well saved her life. 

“Thank you, Sebastián,” she murmured, voice quiet but thick with emotion. 

He lifted his brown eyes to hers, smiling. “You’re welcome.”


	38. The Best Medicine

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing/gore)

* * *

* * *

* * *

A little after four, Raphael called her. He couldn’t wait any longer; he had to hear Jocelyn’s voice. They had a lot to talk about as well, the call lasting over an hour. By then she’d managed to convince her mother to go home and sleep, so Cecilia wasn’t there to interrupt them. 

The call left him full of conflicting emotions. Rage and sorrow, love and relief, pain and joy. His eyes were never too far from tears the entire time, and from the sound of Jocelyn’s occasional hitches, neither was she. They were both yearning to see one another but unable to close the gap just yet. 

He promised to stay on the phone with her all day, if that’s what she wanted. She told him her battery wouldn’t last that long, then joked that he could always come by the hospital and steal her away. 

She shouldn’t be joking about that. He legitimately wanted to do it. Hell, he’d _planned_ to do it more than once already, going over the hospital’s blueprints at one point to see what in and outs he’d need. Donny had caught him, and between him and Leo they’d convinced Raph to _not_ do that. 

When the call reached the ninety-minute mark, she tisked. “My battery is down to fifteen percent,” she told him. “It’s getting angry at me. I need to let you go.” 

He huffed. “Donny’s phone has a charger-case thing. You should get one,” he told her. 

“Noted. Talk to you later, baby. I love you,” she murmured. 

He grinned. “Love you too, babe.” 

When the call cut out, his smile just dropped. He hadn’t been ready to let her go. He took a deep breath, huffed, then hauled himself up off his bed. He still had _hours_ left to waste – and very little inclination to _do_ anything in the meantime. 

The moment he exited his room, Mikey was on him, asking Raph to be his spotter while he worked out. Surprised but glad for the distraction, Raphael went for it, spending nearly two hours with Mikey – until his bro was too exhausted from the constant weight-lifting to continue. 

Then came Leo, asking if Raph wanted to spar. Now getting a bit suspicious, he agreed, the fight dragging on for nearly a half hour before ending in a tie. 

Donny was next, “needing” Raph’s help with some metalwork for the van. _It needs some armor plating and I need another pair of hands,_ Donny explained. 

Now Raph was certain he knew what was going on: his brothers were giving him distractions, keeping his attention diverted from harrowing thoughts. Despite still being severed from Jocelyn, knowing how much effort his brothers were expending for his sake left him smiling. Damn, he loved them – all of them – so much. 

Between the three of them, constantly calling Raph back and forth between them, the hours breezed by. Before he knew it, it was dark, and around 9:30 he left to head to Jocelyn’s apartment. Along the way he got a call from April, though, halting him while he spoke to her. 

“I heard about Jo,” she said. “I have something for her. Will you come pick it up for me?” 

April’s place was only a few miles out of the way, so why not? It would only add about fifteen minutes to his travel time, tops. When he got there, tapping on the window, April let him in with a warm smile. She gave him a hug first and foremost, which he happily accepted. 

He immediately smelled Casey was here, though he didn’t mention it. Then April led him to the kitchen, revealing her bounty: on the counter sat a bouquet of a dozen red roses, chocolates in a heart-shaped box, and a trio of stuffed animals (one brown bear, one floppy-eared blue rabbit, one long-legged turtle). 

Months prior, Raphael had informed April that Jocelyn had OCD and an obsession with threes. She’d clearly remembered this, and it warmed his heart. 

“You got all these for Jocelyn?” he checked, smiling. 

“Technically,” April began, “I got them for _you_ to give to Jocelyn. I knew you wouldn’t ask for this. On the house,” she added, firm. 

Shaking his head, more than a little touched, he gave April a kiss on the cheek. 

“Ahem,” a voice grunted. 

“Casey,” Raph greeted, not even bothering to look. He and Casey got along – but also notably _didn’t_ , leaving the both of them a weird match. They were just as likely to bump fists as they were to snobbily look away, rebuffing the other. 

“Raph,” Casey returned. 

When Raph looked, Casey was standing in a typical “tough guy” pose: feet apart, arms crossed just so to make his biceps look bigger than their were, chin up. He snorted. “Sorry, Case,” he intoned, “ain’t got time to play with you today. My girl needs me.” 

As Raph gathered up the items April had bought, Casey began, “I interviewed two of the guys today.” 

That made Raphael pause, suddenly realizing why Casey was here. Hesitating, Raph ventured, “Yeah, and?” 

“…They said they won’t bother asking her for forgiveness, but they regret everything,” Casey told him. “They asked to apologize to her in person.” 

Gaze hard, Raph growled out, “Did you let ‘em?” 

“No. They’re in lock-down,” Casey answered. “And I thought you should know…the guy who stepped in and saved Jocelyn? His name’s Sebastián Valencia. I can forward his info if you want to see him yourself.” 

After a moment of thought, Raphael nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that. Thanks, Case.” He reached out; Casey slapped his hand and bumped his fist, April looking on with a pleased smile. 

Casey noticed, shrugging with a blurted, “What?” 

“I like it when you guys play nice,” April told them. 

Both men scoffed. She chuckled. 

It was _much_ harder for Raphael to make the trip to Jocelyn’s window with his bounty, but that was hardly a deterrent. April provided a bag for him, and he’d stuffed everything but the roses in there. He could hold the bag and the bouquet in one hand, which helped _immensely_ as he traveled. 

In was 10:20 when he finally made it there, constantly glancing at his presents as he climbed the fire escape to make sure nothing was damaged on the way up. Once in front of her window, he tapped on it, then held his breath. 

Now that he was here, his nerves were strung _taut_ , heart starting to hammer and race. What would he see when she answered? How would she look? Could he handle seeing her teary-faced or bruised? She’d told him she’d been given stitches but not the number, and now he couldn’t help needing to know – and fearing the answer of – how many. 

When he heard footsteps approaching, his breath caught – 

The blinds were brushed aside, but the face that presented itself was Cecilia’s. Raph blinked, confused for a split second before it made sense: Cecilia was caring for her daughter. Of course. He even managed to spot Jocelyn in her bed, clearly sleeping. That put a hamper on his plan, but he knew she’d gladly wake up for him. 

Her mother’s brown eyes were ice cold, though, and she dropped the blinds again without a word. Her footfalls retreated. Shocked, he gave the window a tug; it resisted, locked. He didn’t want to break it, so he moved aside, heading for the spare room. _That_ window was unlocked, and as he opened it and stepped inside, he caught Cecilia striding in – intent on checking it, he supposed. 

She stopped when she saw him there, eyes narrowing on him. “What do you think you’re doing here?” she bit out. 

Okay. Cecilia was _pissed_ , he noted. “Came to see my girlfriend,” he replied, wondering what the hell had happened. 

Crossing her arms, she snapped, “You’re not welcome here anymore.” 

For _months_ he and Jocelyn had been working together to build up Cecilia’s opinion of him. It appears to have _completely_ crashed, and he couldn’t help shooting back, “Alright, Cecilia, what is this?” 

Her eyes grew damp as she hissed at him, “You _promised_ my daughter would never be hurt because of you. But she was. She could’ve _died_ yesterday, and it was all thanks to you.” 

Pain speared him, and he swallowed thick. He couldn’t deny those words, but he vowed, “And it will _never_ happen again.” 

“Don’t you go making empty promises–” she started. 

He cut her off with a sharp, “It’s not an empty promise! Cecilia, I’d do _anything_ for her,” he added with a gesture at Jocelyn’s room. 

Hesitating, Cecilia checked, “Anything?” 

He suspected this wasn’t going to end well, but he still replied, “Yes.” 

“Then I want you to go,” she bit out. As she went on, her voice kept cracking, growing more and more emotional, “I want you to get the fuck out of my house and never come back. You’ve put my only child in danger. Do you have any idea how that feels?” 

_He_ didn’t – but he imagined Splinter did. Every time Raphael and his brothers left to go fight, he would bet money Splinter was always tense, always stressed. Combining that thought with Cecilia’s obvious fear and pain made Raph just feel worse. 

He was as close to tears as she was at this point. And he quietly replied, “No. I’m not leaving.” 

Cecilia swallowed, then snapped, “I’m not giving you a choice.” 

“You don’t have one to give,” he shot back. “We’re in love, Cecilia. Would _you_ have been able to leave Julian?” 

She sucked in a breath, rocked. “How _dare_ you,” she hissed, fighting off tears. She felt he’d crossed a line; he felt it was a line worth crossing.  

Refusing to relent despite how much that sight distressed him, Raph stepped closer to her. “What would you have done, if your parents’d told Julian to leave an’ never return? Would you have let ‘im go?” 

“Th-this isn’t the same thing,” she bit out, starting to shake from emotion. 

“What would you have done?” he pressed, emphasizing each word. “Think on that. Think what Jocelyn would feel if I left cause of you. Then tell me you still want me to go.” 

That had her hesitating. She took a shuddering breath, then looked away. 

He couldn’t blame her for feeling this way. She was a mother, and she’d just had to deal with getting the most terrifying phone call a parent could receive: that her child was in the hospital. Her anger, her fear, her stubbornness – it was all valid. She had a right to feel this way. 

The only problem was that she wasn’t considering what _Jocelyn_ wanted in all these decisions. 

“You know what’ll happen,” Raph told her, gentling. And, for the first time, he reached out to touch Cecilia, refusing to react as she flinched at his approaching hand. He knelt down as his hand grasped her shoulder, bringing them to roughly the same height. 

He said, “You know exactly what’ll happen if you try an’ get between us now. I know you’re scared, an’ I’m not gonna tell you not t’be, but I’m in her future, Cecilia. I want you to be in her future, too.” 

Jocelyn would choose him over her mother. He knew this. But he didn’t want her to have to choose it. 

Though Cecilia was still glaring, his words starting to make tears fall, she gave a reluctant nod. “I hear you,” she murmured, voice almost too quiet to be audible. “But what happened to her….I can’t survive something like this happening again,” she told him. 

“It won’t,” he swore. “I won’t treat ‘er like she’s made of glass, but I _will_ protect her better. Cecilia…” He placed his hand over his heart, finishing with a firm, “I swear it.” 

She swallowed, then looked at his hand and back up. “Swearing with your left hand?” she noted. 

“I’m ambidextrous,” he explained. “But if it helps I’ll swear with my hands, feet, and shell in turn.” 

That got a laugh out of her, and she shook her head. “I can’t believe you made me laugh,” she complained. 

Standing back up, he spread his arms, quipping, “That’s what I’m here for: heavy lifting and the occasional chuckle.” 

Charm, admittedly, wasn’t one of his strong points. Somehow it’d worked on Jocelyn, though, so he tried it with Cecilia. Worse case scenario, he wasted some time. 

Sighing and shaking her head, she replied with a gesture at his gifts, “Jocelyn’s asleep, but you can leave those here and I’ll give them to her when she wakes up.” 

He gave the bag a glance, then said to Cecilia, “Actually, I was jus’ gonna wake her up.” 

Brows knit, she repeated, “She’s asleep, Raphael. She needs her rest, so let her rest.” 

He leaned down towards Cecilia, saying, “How many times today did she tell you she wanted t’see me?” 

The older woman huffed, clearly caught. “Several,” she answered. “Alright, fine, but just…keep her calm. The doctor said it would take around five weeks for her to heal.” 

Nodding, Raphael let her have that one without complaint – while trying not to let that _five weeks_ comment agitate him. He just went to see his lover, setting the gifts down on the floor as he knelt beside her bed. She was on her side, bundled up in her fluffy comforter, her hair both braided and pinned in a bun. 

Her suspected her mother did that. And, honestly, it looked pretty cute, yet elegant. He liked it. 

Reaching out, he ran his thumb over her cheek, slowly coming to caress her face and neck. “Jocelyn,” he called softly, “guess who.” 

She gave a little, sleepy hum, shifting. At first she just snuggled deeper into the blanket and pillow, pulling a smile out of him; then she took a deep breath, sighed, and began blinking awake. When her eyes focused on him, she hummed again, starting to smile. 

“Hey, baby,” she murmured. 

Just seeing that smile made his eyes water almost to the point of overflowing. It took a great deal of effort for him to resist the urge to cry right then, throat crowding with emotion. He was so damn _relieved_ to see her in person – while also so heartbroken over what she’d suffered. 

_Never again._

“Sorry to wake you,” he replied quietly, “but I thought you’d wanna see me.” 

“I do,” she breathed. She reached out, bringing her hand to his cheek. His heart swelled and pulsed, a mixture of pleasure and pain, as she pet him from cheek to neck and back. 

Her affection was crippling him… 

He swallowed, cleared his throat. “How ya feelin’?” he asked. 

Jocelyn gave a thoughtful hum, answering, “Mostly like shit…but significantly better with you here.” 

God, she was so…. _perfect_ , he thought. She never lied, even when a lie would’ve eased some pain. The truth was more important, she’d said before. So even though knowing she felt bad pained him, it also left him somewhat _happy_ that she still told it like it is. 

If she ever lied to him, it would be over something far worse than this. 

“I have some presents for you,” he told her. 

Surprised but pleased, she moved her hand to grip him – he eased closer for her – and used her hand on his neck to start pulling herself up. Her opposite arm pushed against the bed, slowly and carefully levering her up. 

He reached out to help, but when his fingers curved around her ribs, she winced, sucking in a sharp breath. He jerked his hand away as if he’d been burned, apologizing, “Sorry, Jocelyn…sorry. That was dumb.” 

“It’s okay, don’t worry,” she told him, even as she sounded breathless. “Pain’s just the body’s way of keeping you cautious, right?” 

She was _far_ too mature, he decided. “Nailed it,” he answered, voice tight from his own emotional strain. 

Once she had brought herself up enough, sitting with the blankets bunched at her waist, he went for the presents. She looked oddly adorable to him right then, wearing an incredibly loose and sleeveless pale green top. With her hair up in that bun, as well, the vision she made was too cute. 

She gasped when she saw what he was reaching for. First he handed her the bouquet and she mewled and cooed as she took it. Eyes wet, she smiled at him, hugging the roses to her chest. 

“You’re _such_ a sweetheart,” she whined. 

As much as that pleased him, it also had his guilt flaring. Clearing his throat, he confessed, “Technically, I didn’t get that…April did.” When Jocelyn gave him a curious look, he explained, “I didn’t have the money to go out and buy all this, or the time to try an’ find it. April knew I wouldn’t ask her either, so she just went an’ got ‘em for me. For you,” he finished. 

Smiling and nodding, Jocelyn replied, “That makes sense. I’ll have to send her my thanks.” 

Hesitant, he ventured, “You’re not disappointed in me?” 

“Disappointed?” she echoed. Reaching out again, she ran the backs of her fingers down his cheek. “Baby, I will take every shred of love you have to give me, whether it was your idea or not. I could _never_ be disappointed with you.” 

_Fuck_ , she was too much for him. Grinning, he swung his gaze away, looking pointedly at the floor. She showed him no mercy, continuing her little pets and affections as he struggled to get over his newest swell of emotion. Reaching for a diversion, he brought the bag closer, and Jocelyn paused to watch him. 

First he pulled out the chocolates, holding it up the right way so she could see it was a heart-shaped box. The box itself was bigger than his head, and evidently this amused her. 

She snorted, chuckling. Gesturing it, she quipped, “Actual size of Raphael’s heart.” 

….He was holding it up in front of his chest, he realized. Chuckling, himself, he he handed it to her, and she set the roses aside to open it up and check it. 

“You’re funny,” he chided, sarcastic. 

“Damn right, I am,” she agreed. Tilting her head, she noted, “So there’s no chart for this one. Each one’s a guess.” 

“Hope you have fun with that,” he retorted. 

Arching a brow at him, she replied, “What’re you talking about? You’re gonna help me eat these.” When he gave her a look of disbelief, she added, “No getting out of it. I’m playing the I’m-hurt, you-gotta-do-what-I-say card.” 

Little vixen, he thought again, giving an involuntary smile. She just couldn’t be kept down, could she? Bedridden and wounded, yet still upbeat. 

“You’re amazing,” he told her. 

“Freely admitted,” she grinned. 

He loved when she did that, acknowledging her strengths with a simple agreement. It made him smile. Then, refocusing, he went for the bag again. 

“Oh, my god, there’s more?” Jocelyn asked, caught between disbelief and curiosity and excitement. 

Grinning, now, he handed her the stuffed bear. She _squeaked_ , the chocolates abandoned as she took it from him. He watched her admire the toy, rubbing her fingers over its fur and head, examining its eyes. She even tweaked its nose, the act making him shake his head. 

How could his lusty, passionate lover have such a damn cute side to her? 

Then she murmured, “Ferdinand,” and he realized she’d just chosen a replacement for her lost bear. The look she gave that bear was watery-eyed, as if she were seeing something far deeper than cloth and stuffing and a pair of plastic eyes. 

He was unsure how to deal with that. Even though he was gone, her father retained a large piece of her heart, and now that little bear – one _Raphael_ hadn’t chosen – represented him. He felt an odd mix of jealousy and disappointment…and, faintly, irritation. Best not to analyze any of that, he decided; he didn’t think he’d like the results. 

He retrieved the bunny next, creeping it into her line of sight over the edge of the bed slowly. The moment her eyes seized on it, she grinned again, leaving ‘Ferdinand’ in her lap as she accepted it. This one she nuzzled, obviously loving its soft fur. 

“…Patricia,” she decided. 

Raphael chuckled to himself. Already naming her toys. It made him wonder what she’d named the turtle he’d given her. For now he put it aside, pulling out the final toy: that gangly-legged turtle. 

She laughed when she saw it, holding it up and giving it a shake to watch its legs wiggle. “Turtle-jellyfish hybrid,” she quipped. 

That made _him_ laugh, too. “Whadaya gonna name that one?” he asked. 

Tilting her head, she hummed, “Mmm, this one feels like a Seymour. You like that, Seymour?” she asked the toy, then squeezed the back of its neck to mime nodding. “Yeah, me too,” she agreed. Then, to Raphael, she added more quietly, “Three.” 

He nodded. 

“That a coincidence?” she asked him. 

“No. I told April you had OCD a couple months ago,” he told her. “Was kinda surprised she remembered, though.” 

“I _definitely_ need to give her my thanks, then,” Jocelyn said, thoughtful. 

He smiled, but it didn’t last long. After a moment, he ventured, “Jocelyn, can I…” Hesitating, he said instead, “I wanna see it.” 

Her amusement faded. Seymour was laid with the others, and she replied, “You sure about that? It’s…not pretty.” 

He nodded, though fear raced through him and nerves had him swallowing thickly. “I need ta…know.” 

For a long moment they held gazes: Jocelyn hesitant and deep in thought, Raphael scared but determined. And then she gave him a nod, bringing her arms into her top to carefully lift it over her head. 

Even though that action bared her breasts to him, right then he couldn’t even see it. He just got up from his spot, moving around the bed until he could see what he needed to see. He was staring at the bed and the floor instead, though, having a hard time lifting his gaze. And when he finally did, forcing his eyes up, his world _flipped_ on him. 

Her back was dark, pockets of swells here and there, yellow threads of color offsetting the deep, purple whole. The cuts were _horrifying_ to see, scabs and smears and trails of blood dried into her skin. And the fucking _stitches_ – they were everywhere, a few dozen at least, and the bright blue of them had obviously been chosen because of how dark her skin was right then. 

No other color would be able to be _seen_. 

Pain tore at Raphael’s heart, and he just couldn’t keep from losing tears at the sight. When Jocelyn looked over her shoulder at him, extending a hand back on the bed in invitation, he sat behind her. Taking her hand, he bit out, “I shoulda killed ‘im.” 

She smiled, just a little. “I’m kinda glad you didn’t, honestly.” 

“Jocelyn…”

“It’s okay,” she told him. “You did your part. Now the police are gonna do theirs. You don’t need to do anything else.” 

But he did, didn’t he? He had to do a _lot_ more. He had to enact better protections for her, rethink everything from coming to visit her to taking her on dates and having _her_ visit _him_. All his precautions until now just weren’t enough. 

Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on her neck. He was extra careful not to come any closer, though, afraid of what might happen if her stitches got caught in his plastron. That thought should’ve made him back off, but he found he couldn’t; right now, as he was, he felt like he was protecting her. 

Right now, he needed this. 

He shifted, coming to sit on his knees behind her, then leaned forward on his hands. It was the best he could do, unable to bring her any closer, but in this position he could pretend he was [**shielding her**](https://sultrysirens.tumblr.com/post/177685546809/her-shell-the-dancer-35-sometimes-you-just). He rested his cheek on her shoulder, feeling an odd mix of emotion: anger and pain, yes, but also determination. The combination left him feeling weak, muscles lax. 

He would _not_ let this happen again. Whatever it took, whatever he had to do…he would make sure of that.


	39. Unforeseen Consequences

**Rating:** PG-13 (mostly cute stuff with some swearing and anatomy talk)

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“ _This_ is what I wanted…” Jocelyn murmured, **[snuggled up with her lover](https://sultrysirens.tumblr.com/post/171174852459/latest-raphelyn-sketches-relevant-to-chapter-36)**. 

Once he’d seen her back – leaving her tense and slightly scared the entire time, concerned over how he would react – Raphael had spent a long time just sitting behind her, leaned over and around her, the position making her feel more calm and protected than ever before. She’d liked it, had strangely enjoyed the way he’d so clearly placed himself in defense of her. 

As if _he_ were _her_ shell. The parallel warmed her to her core, going so far as to make her aches seem to fade. She’d wanted nothing more than to stay just like that, absorbing his heat, letting it sustain her. Unfortunately she was also exhausted. 

She’d been warned about that – on top of the fact that she had a great deal of healing to do, a process which kept her brain active and, by extension, her body drowsy, her medication left her lethargic as well. Just side effects in this case, but ones she was happy to endure. Sleeping was a great way to avoid the pain…and her constant desire to get up and move. 

So after a little while of that comfortable silence with Raphael, she’d informed him that she was nodding off and needed to lay back down. 

And she hadn’t even had to ask him to stay; he kissed her neck, helped her clear off her bed, then laid back and opened his arms for her. She had three pillows – one was tossed aside, one was folded in half and stuffed behind his neck, and the last was placed on his chest. 

Her position was a little odd, a little painful, but it was the best she could manage. Arms crossed over her pillow, she lay mostly on her stomach, only her hips slightly pivoted. It pulled just a tad on her wounded back, her medication not quite strong enough to numb the pain completely. But after putting her shirt back on and pulling the comforter over her shoulders, everything balanced. 

The small but constant pressure acted like a band-aid – the pain was still there, but spread and dispersed enough that it became easy to ignore. She hummed, delighted despite her injury to be back in her lover’s arms. 

One of his hands kept petting along her neck, face and hair, even following the curve of her ear every so often; the other went no further than her arm, not even venturing to her shoulder – too afraid to test if it was safe to touch or not, she supposed. 

And it was successfully putting her to sleep. A part of her felt bad for using him like this, knowing he’d have to sit like that for hours before she woke up again, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that _he’d_ chosen this. He chose to lay back without any directive from her, chose to hold her and pet her, chose to let her sleep like this. 

As she started to drift off, she moved a hand up to ghost along his arm, murmuring, “I love you so much, baby…you’re perfect.” 

He took a sharp breath, drawing a chuckle out of her as she was lifted with the motion, and then his deep voice rumbled, “Nah, I’m as flawed as every other mutant. If anyone’s perfect, Jocelyn…it’s you.” 

She smiled. “Sweetheart,” she chided. 

Time _flew_ by for her. She drifted off, lovingly cradled by her boyfriend, every last inch of her relaxed. When she woke up again, it was to Cecilia and Raphael working together to get her awake – it was time for her next dose of pills. Jocelyn _almost_ told them to get lost; she didn’t want to be up, she wanted to be asleep. But they got her to sit up and dutifully take the pills. 

They didn’t let her go back to sleep afterwards, though. As Jocelyn complained the entire time, Cecilia drew a bath for her and carefully washed off her cuts. This was done with the utmost care, her mother walking the “I don’t want to hurt you, but I _need_ to do this” parent line the whole time. 

Following the bath was food – which Raphael had made during her bath. He wasn’t that great, but to Cecilia’s chagrin, he was better than _her_ , at least. As Jocelyn drowsily worked on her scrambled eggs, bacon and toast, she commented, “From now on, _I_ cook. Kay?” 

She hadn’t intended to be funny, but the soft laughter she got in response told her it amused her companions.  

Then she went back to bed and the routine repeated itself. When she didn’t want to sleep, she cuddled with Raphael on the couch instead, watching whatever was on in a near-constant state of semi-consciousness. She “saw” several movies over the course of the day that she honestly couldn’t recall the titles of. 

Night fell and, not wanting another everything-is-partly-burnt meal, she shoved everyone out of the kitchen and cooked, herself. Other than using Raphael to get things for her sometimes (her reach was _extremely_ limited), she outright refused to let him or her bumbling mother into the kitchen. And, halfway through preparing dinner, they received visitors. 

Raphael’s brothers. They were all anxious to see her (to varying visible degrees), and she honestly would have given them all hugs and kisses if her back would’ve let her. She invited them to stay – ignoring her mother’s annoyed huff – and promptly set out to triple her meal size. 

After, of course, being forced to go put on a pair of pants. She had no issue with her thin top and panties, but her boyfriend and mother _did_ , outright demanding she put on _something_. Cecilia helped her accomplish this, and then she was right back at the stove. 

Conversation kept up the entire time, sometimes towards Jocelyn but mostly towards Cecilia. It successfully got Jo’s attention to focus properly, and she watched with amusement as Cecilia was kept in constant sights of at least one turtle. She was obviously uncomfortable but had little choice but to remain civil. And, if Jocelyn wasn’t seeing things, it appeared as though her mother was steadily being charmed. 

…By _Mikey_ , in particular. 

More and more Cecilia was smiling, coming to accept what Jocelyn had known for months: mutants or not, turtles or otherwise, Raphael and his brothers were _people_. Their appearances and genetics held no sway over their hearts and minds. 

Every so often Jocelyn had to shoo someone out of the kitchen for trying to see what she was doing, but after a little while of this she had an idea. She called for Mikey, and when he glanced up at her, she said, “C’mere. I want you to help me.” 

Raphael scowled, but Mikey – visibly surprised – came over. “Uh, why, though?” he asked. 

“I have a hunch,” she told him. Then, grabbing a duo of spices, she held them out. “Smell these and tell me what you think of ‘em.” 

Confused and hesitant, he did so, then ventured, “I don’t really…know what I’m supposed to say.” 

“Whatever comes to mind,” she directed. Her father had taught her this, and she was all too ready to pass it on. And Mikey, she thought, had a natural cook’s mind – he’d just never tried it out. 

Tentative, he tried, “Well this one’s…stronger than this one…and kinda…I don’t know, rhythmic?” 

“Rhythmic?” she echoed, surprised but pleased. 

“Yeah, like…balanced,” he agreed. “Sharp but also soft. Lively but relaxing.” Then, wincing, he checked, “That sounds stupid, huh?”

“No,” she denied, smiling. “You’re not wrong, Mikey. Scents and flavors…they have personality. A good cook can match flavors with people. It’s how I guessed what flavor of cookies you’d all enjoy.” 

He looked like his mind had just been blown. 

“And,” she went on, “I have a hunch…that you’re a cook. You just don’t know it yet. So you’re gonna help me,” she repeated. Taking a step back, she gestured her pots. “I want to add a spice to the tomato sauce. Take a sniff and tell me which one you think would work best.” 

Pleased and excited (but clearly trying to stay calm), Mikey did so. He smelled each of the spices again, then the sauce, then the spices. He did this four times while Jocelyn watched, growing increasingly amused, before selecting one. 

When he held it out to her, though, she gestured the pot. “Well, go on,” she invited. 

Leo ventured, “Are you sure that’s a good idea…?” 

Giving Mikey control over what they _all_ ate probably sounded like a terrible decision, but Jocelyn nodded. “Have a little faith,” she told Leo. 

Once Mikey had done so, she started on the next portion. He stood beside her the whole time, fetching things if she asked for them and sniffing or stirring as directed. And, honestly, it felt _great_ to have a cook buddy. She couldn’t help imagining Mikey as Antony, pretending she was making dinner with her little brother, and it put a permanent smile on her face. 

And her hunch turned out well. Mikey’s nose had helped dinner a great deal, and the decisions _he_ made all panned out well. The Delaghy dining table wasn’t equipped to handle six occupants, though, so Donny and Leo ended up sitting on the couch instead. 

Cecilia gave them a _firm_ warning about spilling their food, especially considering their meals included tomato sauce and the sofa was white, but she needn’t have bothered. The guys had perfect manners; by the time dinner was over not a single speck or crumb was anywhere but on their plates. 

To Jocelyn’s absolute delight (and Raphael’s absolute disgruntlement), after dinner each of the boys thanked her and kissed her cheek. She giggled; Raph growled. And, perhaps just to show off, he responded to that by giving her a deep – but _careful_ – kiss. 

As if he’d had to. Leo rolled his eyes; Donny barely noticed; Mikey hooked a thumb at them while looking at Cecilia – who just shook her head. All that “show” did was please Jocelyn. No one else really responded. 

It left Jocelyn feeling incredible, though, despite the near-constant _awareness_ she had of her back – even if it didn’t hurt, exactly, she could still feel it. But with the guys here, everyone playing nice (Cecilia included), and that lovely dinner…she had nothing she could complain about. 

…Until the guys left, taking Raphael with them. He obviously wasn’t ready to go and Jocelyn wasn’t ready to let him, but he had his responsibilities and she didn’t _need_ him here. 

They chose to have a _long_ goodbye, though, standing pressed against one another, faces touching. They nuzzled, gave the tiniest kisses, and kept murmuring promises to each other: _see you soon, I’ll be here; don’t wait up, oh I will; sleep well, I’ll try; take care of yourself, ladies first._

It ended when Raphael said, “Heal up quick…so we can start wrestling again.” 

She grinned. “Naughty boy,” she chided. 

“You love it,” he told her. 

“Mm,” she agreed, giving his lips a quick lick. “Damn right, I do.” 

Biting his lips, he withdrew, heading out at long last. Jocelyn sighed as he left, giving a little wave when she caught all four of those brothers waving at her from a nearby rooftop. 

They were _such_ cuties, honestly. A part of her couldn’t wait to hear them blather on about _their_ girlfriends the way she knew Raphael did about _her_. 

* * *

The recovery, overall, wasn’t easy – but it went surprisingly fast. Raphael visited nearly every day, and she absolutely loved those days; he cuddled with her, talked to her, soothed her aches and kept her warm. Little by little she even saw her mother come to accept this, realizing how _good_ Raphael was for her. 

She was never happier than when he was here. 

And every Tuesday she went to see Dr. Moore again. Her first check just confirmed what she already knew: everything was going smoothly. The second, however, included a surprised comment by him. 

“Your bruises are nearly healed.” 

In two weeks’ time? Confused, she checked, “Shouldn’t that be impossible?” 

“It _should_ be,” he agreed. Then, looking closer, he added, “Your lesions, as well…they’re already about halfway healed.” Smiling, he told her, “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.” 

She smiled back, but her speedy recovery was surprising enough that she immediately informed Raphael. She texted him to call her when he had a moment; her phone rang less than five minutes later. 

“Missin’ me?” he teased when she answered it. 

_Dork,_ she thought. “Always,” she promised. “But this is a business call. The pleasure will have to wait.”

He grew serious at once. “What’s wrong?” 

“More like, ‘What’s inconceivably right?’“ she corrected. “Dr. Moore says I’m healing faster than average. And not just by a day or two. My cuts are a week ahead and my bruises are already almost gone.” 

There was a long pause, and then he checked, “That’s about average for bruises, right? Two weeks?” 

“Well, yeah, for _little_ bruises,” she agreed, “but my whole _back_ was black and blue. On top of getting a bunch of cuts, too? Dr. Moore said he wouldn’t be surprised if it took me around six weeks for everything to heal. It’s almost all fixed and it’s been a third of that time.” 

Another pause; then, somewhat alarmed, “Lemme check with Donny real quick. I’ll call you back.” 

While she waited, Jocelyn began ‘testing’ herself again. She immediately noted she could reach better than the last time she’d tried this, that the painful pulling in her back had lessened considerably. She must not have been paying very close attention, she realized, if she’d recovered this much and never noticed. 

Heading to her bathroom, she did away with her shirt so she could look for herself. Sure enough, her back looked way better. The bruises were mostly gone, leaving behind only a few discolored blotches surrounding the worst of her cuts. She could even see a few scars in her skin, a little more pale and pink than her flesh, at the edges of the lesions. 

Maybe she should try skipping her next dose of pain meds – if only to see how bad it hurt now. 

The next time her phone rang, the caller was Donny. Answering it, she quipped, “If this is about that time I spilled a Pepsi on your keyboard, I _said_ I was sorry.” 

There was a bland chuckle, then Donny replied, “You still owe me a replacement.” 

“I know. I keep forgetting.” 

“I’ll write you a note.” 

“Thanks.” 

“So, Raph says you’re healing faster than expected. By a lot.” 

“That’s the gist of it,” she agreed. 

“Think you’re good to come down here?” he asked. 

Her brows lifted. “To the Lair? Like, today?” 

“Raph’s already on his way,” Donny told her. 

_Okay. Wow._ “I’m sure I can handle it, but why, exactly?” 

“Short answer: I want to do a blood test.” 

“…On me?” she checked. When he gave her an affirmative, she gave a strangled laugh. “Well, I trust you and all, but what’s this about?” 

He hesitated, then ventured, “I think this is better explained in person…after I’ve done the test,” he added sharply. “I might be wrong so I don’t want to freak you out.” 

At that, she replied, snarky, “I’m kinda freaking out just cause you won’t tell me what’s going on.” 

There was a nervous kind of giggle, and then he said, “Jocelyn…in case I’m wrong, I don’t want you getting crazy ideas. So just chill. It’s just a theory for now.” 

She huffed. “Okay. How long till Raphael gets here?” 

“It usually takes him about half an hour, but he’s in a rush, so…”

“So, get ready,” she concluded. “Alright. See you soon, Donny.” 

“Bye, Jo.” 

She barely had enough time to inform her mother she was going out – Cecilia, shocked, immediately began demanding answers – and get herself cleaned up and ready. Aside from just changing clothes, she also made sure to brush her teeth and put her hair up. 

Then her lover was there, tapping on the window for attention. It was the middle of the day, so him coming over like this told her just how serious things could be. Cecilia was anxious, though, and fought against Jocelyn leaving. 

“Mom, I’ll be _fine_ ,” Jo sighed, aggravated. “Raphael’s never let me get hurt before and I guarantee it’s not going to start happening now.”

“I know that,” Cecilia snapped. “I’m not worried about you getting hurt, I’m worried because you won’t tell me what’s going on!” 

“I just wanna be with my boyfriend today, what’s wrong with that?!” 

“Don’t you lie to me! He never just comes by in the middle of the day! So what’s this about?!” 

Huffing, Jo tried to calm her mother. “Look, I’d tell you, but I don’t know, myself. Donny has an idea and he wants me there so he can check it out. I’ll let you know once _I_ know, okay?” 

Though she was obviously less than pleased with this, Cecilia sighed and nodded. “Alright. But you call me right away, as soon as you know anything!” she demanded. 

Nodding, Jocelyn allowed that. “Will do, Mom. Now go back to your soap operas,” she added with a push at her mother’s shoulder. 

And then Jo was gone, carried away by her lover. The travel back to the Lair was quick – he took the slides – but full of affection. Every time they had to swap from one pipe to another, he took the opportunity to give her kisses and nuzzles, obviously starving for more of her. 

This wound had separated them, keeping their affections minimal at best. Considering they were usually _far_ more passionate, almost to the point of being invasive, it was a harsh change. They’d suffered. And Raphael, clearly, was _hungry_ to have her back, fully healed and capable of handling his lust again. 

She could hardly wait, herself. 

Once they were in the Lair, she made her way to Donny’s lab, calling for him as she went. Her beau was stuck to her the entire time, as well – not that she minded. Donatello quickly greeted her, having her sit down for him, while he finished whatever it was he was busily setting up. 

Honestly, she was, in turns, both surprised and not that they practically had a whole hospital down here. She didn’t recognize many of the contraptions and devices in the lab, and the ones she _did_ recognize she didn’t know the names of, anyway. Cabinets, tables, shelves, desks; the room was packed, organized in a way she suspected only Donatello could understand. Her OCD found it all impressive and irritating at the same time. 

Finally done with his setup, Donny sat down in a wheeled chair – only to hesitate, roll away from her with a hard shove of his foot, grab a syringe and a bottle, and roll back. 

“So, if I’m right,” he began, disinfecting her inner elbow with a cotton swab, “you _cannot_ let yourself get any more blood tests in hospitals. It’s kind of important.” 

“Remember when I said you were kinda freaking me out with silence?” she began, ignoring the pinch when he drove the needle into her arm. “Cause now it just got worse.” 

“Sorry, but…”

“Can’t tell me yet, I know,” she sighed. 

Done with the syringe, he pressed another cotton ball to her elbow, instructing her to pinch it in place by folding her arm. Then, scooting away again, he gave her a wave. “This’ll take a few hours at best, so go ahead and hang out.” 

Tilting her head, she checked, “Won’t you be bored?” 

Giving her a surprised glance, Donny replied, “Oh, I’m not going to be _working_ this whole time. I just have to wait on the machines.” 

“Oh.” 

Another wave. “Go on. Raph,” he added with a look at his brother. 

Nodding, Raphael pulled Jo to her feet, then took her hand. “Trust me, ya don’t wanna be here any longer than ya have to,” he told her. “He gets grouchy when people’re around.” 

“I do _not_ ,” Donny shot back, offended. 

Opting not to argue or take sides, Jocelyn just chuckled, letting Raphael lead her away. Once they were out of the lab, she gave him a look, asking, “So, what now? Cartoon Network?” 

They both weirdly enjoyed Looney Tunes and other such oldie cartoons, had spent many hours during her recovery, alone, watching that channel. She wouldn’t mind a few more. 

“Actually,” he started, giving her a sly look, “there’s somethin’ I’ve been waitin’ to show ya.” When she gave him a suspicious look, he directed, “Close your eyes.” 

She did so, not the least bit worried. He’d lead her around the Lair safely, she knew it. Taking her hands, he went in front of her, walking backwards as he led her. When they stopped and he told her to look, she found herself standing at the end of a half-circle tunnel with a wall and a door in front of her, several feet beyond the opening. 

She tilted her head, venturing, “…A new room?” 

When she looked at him for confirmation, he just smirked, waiting. Now even _more_ suspicious, she glanced around, getting her bearings. 

_Click._ “Oh, my god,” she gasped, “this is _your_ room! You made a _door?”  
_

He was grinning. “Yep,” he agreed. 

“You made a – you _built_ a door,” she chuckled. “Fuckin’ handyman, _what_ ,” she intoned, stepping up to it. By now she knew this tunnel _quite_ well, including knowing that he must have put this wall-door combo halfway through it. 

It looked _perfect_ , a series of grey-tone bricks and cement making up the whole arch. What surprised her most were the edges, where he’d clearly had to cut and break the bricks to fit the curve. The door was obviously a heavy metal, as well, with some kind of foam lining screwed into the doorframe to make a perfect seal. Yet, when she turned the handle and pushed, the door opened with ease. 

She turned a look on Raphael, catching another smug grin on him. “You seriously made a door,” she said. 

He shrugged. “I got bored. And,” he added, stepping closer and lowering his voice, “started thinkin’…I’m tired of my bros hearin’ your voice when you scream for me. That’s all mine from now on.” 

She grinned back. “I’m ready to test it, if you are,” she hinted. 

That had him hesitating. “Your back…?” he checked. 

“I seriously doubt I can pop any stitches at this point,” she told him, “but if you’re worried, we can be gentle.” 

When he still hesitated, she intoned, “I’ll go first.” 

At once his eyes turned smoldering and he started pushing her back through the doorway. “No,” he argued, “ya won’t.” 

They only did oral, concern over her wounds keeping them from doing anything beyond that. And Raphael was _more_ than just ‘gentle’ with her; he touched her as if she were made of glass. In the aftermath of her climax she felt grateful for that. As it turned out, having an orgasm was a bit of a strain on her back, and a low burning and throbbing warned her to not push for that again. But maybe that was because her injury had left her totally incapable of doing anything sex-related, so her need had been stewing and bubbling for two freaking weeks. 

Letting go had been _intense_. 

Raphael had been no different, even going so far as to tell her that _he_ hadn’t masturbated, either. It was a kind of self-induced penance for him, apparently, for not taking good enough care of her. As long as she couldn’t enjoy sexual pleasures, he wasn’t, either. But for the most part that just ended with the both of them having _way_ too intense orgasms – which, admittedly, was also kind of fun. He’d given her so much cum, just as built-up as she’d been, and she loved it. 

Now they were back in their customary Jocelyn-can’t-lay-on-her-back cuddle pose, with her laying on top of him. By now she’d figured out that the easiest position on her was with their hips aligned, her knees between his thighs giving her a bit of support – the pose not at all straining her back. This meant she could just fold her arms and admire him from _way_ closer. 

They talked as they waited on Donny’s test, catching up on little life events. Jo mentioned how often her friends had come by, how often she talked with Cassie; Raphael told her how antsy and anxious Mikey had been, how they’d been discussing – as a team – how best to handle Jocelyn’s inclusion in their lives. 

Raphael had concluded that he had to do something more for her. “S’not enough, the ways things’ve been,” he told her. “That deal with Alejandro…you shouldn’t’ve led him to me.” 

She glanced away at that. “I’d been thinking about that. I mean, you said you hadn’t seen him in two months. You’d think he’d have figured out by then that you weren’t coming back, but instead he got paranoid.” 

“And violent,” Raphael agreed. “Nothin’ about his criminal history suggested he even _could_ get violent. He was a pushover.” 

“Cornered mouse,” Jo hinted. 

He inclined his head. “Good point. But he was just _one_ person. There’s millions more like ‘im. Jocelyn…I need you to be better protected.” 

She hummed as she thought on that, then said, “Well, if you’re gonna suggest an armored battlesuit or whatever…” She didn’t like the idea that he might start making her wear a suit of armor, and she let him know that with her dark tone. 

“No,” he chuckled. “It’s a thought, but…no. I was actually thinkin’ I could teach you some stuff. Train you,” he added, firm. 

Her brows lifted. “Train me? Like a ninja?” 

“More like a boxer,” he corrected. “You already got the legs. What you need is the arms. And techniques,” he told her. “I can teach ya that.” 

“Like counters and stuff?” she checked. 

“Yep.” 

She lowered her head, looking away and feeling conflicted. “I don’t know about that…I mean, yeah, I don’t have a problem kicking someone in the jaw, but…I’m a ballerina, not a fighter.” 

“Jocelyn,” Raphael said, voice taut. A hand on her cheek, he brought her gaze back up. “This is about protectin’ you. I can’t be there all the time – I wish I could,” he added with a strangled laugh. “But I can’t. So you need to protect _yourself_.” He hesitated, then added, “ _I_ need you to protect yourself.” 

She couldn’t argue with that. Sighing, she nodded. “Just wait for me to give you the green light, okay? No pushing,” she directed. 

He put his hands up. “Promise,” he said, and she could see how relieved he was that she’d agreed. And then he added, “But be prepared. Once we get goin’, I ain’t stoppin’ or takin’ it easy on you. It’ll be hard…you’ll get exhausted…but that’s how training works.” 

_That_ had her swallowing. Still, she gave him a little smirk. “Try ballet sometime. Then you can tell me what’s harder and more exhausting.” 

He smiled. 

Sometime later there was a knock at the door. Though Jocelyn heard no spoken words, evidently Raphael did, because he responded, “Yeah, be out there in a sec.” Meeting her gaze, he clarified, “Donny’s test is done. He has news.” 

The news, Jocelyn quickly learned, was that he’d found mutagen in her blood. At first that didn’t make sense – she’d never ingested any of _their_ blood, so how did it get there? – and then Donny started explaining. 

“It’s not just blood,” he told her. “The mutagen’s in everything, from blood to saliva to urine to…”

When he hesitated, Jo finished for him, “Semen.” 

Uncomfortable, he nodded. “Every _kiss_ would be giving you a little bit of mutagen. I’m sure most of it just…goes right through you,” he said, “but some of it made its way into your blood. Once it’s there, it’s stuck there. It strikes up a balance with your blood, then starts multiplying to keep it at a constant amount.” 

Nodding, Jocelyn attempted to follow and understand. And, in her mind, she was examining her relationship with Raphael, all the things they did together. They kissed so much, tongues venturing deep, and by now it was rare that he didn’t come inside her – mouth or otherwise. Hell, she’d swallowed his damn cum just an hour ago! 

She checked, “So it won’t go down, but it can keep rising?” 

“Up to a one-to-five-thousand ratio, yeah,” he agreed. “That’s what our blood’s at now. One microgram of mutagen for every five thousand micrograms of blood.” 

“So what am _I_ at?” 

“One visible cell per drop,” he answered, “so about one-per-five-million micrograms.” 

Taking that in, she concluded, “So, very little, but enough to give me a speedy recovery.” When he nodded, she asked, “Okay, so then how did you even find that ratio?” 

“The mutagen has a specific kind of magnetism,” he explained. “I just had to give it a charge and some time to separate. Then I just had to find it–” he gestured a microscope “–and estimate based on how much of your blood I drew out versus micrograms of mutagen.”

Okay, that was a little harder to grasp but she nodded all the same. Then, with a glance at Raphael – he was silent but stressed, listening – she ventured, “…What would you guess is the long-term of this? Am I gonna…” _mutate?_

“W-well, that’s hard to say,” Donny ventured, tentative. “At this rate, maybe nothing. It’s entirely possible that _we_ only mutated because we got so much mutagen all at once. Smaller doses might have no actual effect, other than basic benefits like health and stamina. There’s not enough data to postulate much.” 

“But what if it does?” she demanded, growing more agitated as she thought of it. She wasn’t sure she would be okay with that – with _changing_. “What if it starts acting up and I just…” She gestured above her head. 

Catching on, Donny shook his head. “It’s highly unlikely that you’d _grow_ ,” he denied. “We were babies. You’re already on the edge of adulthood. It could take decades for you to get that much mutagen, if you ever did.” 

“Maybe,” she allowed, “but Splinter was an adult, too, wasn’t he?” 

“And the mutagen made him evolve, just like us,” Donny argued. “You’re already evolved about as far as humans can be. Jocelyn, I _really_ doubt you’d physically change, even if you just got shots of mutagen like we had. You’re gonna be fine.” 

When she looked away, subdued, he reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. “I know this is probably really scary for you,” he said, “but if it helps, I can keep checking. I could do annual check-ups, just to make sure it isn’t getting out of control–”

“Monthly,” she interrupted with a sharp look. She didn’t look, but she could feel how uncomfortable Raphael had become – and she didn’t want to see how he was reacting to this. 

Not yet. 

Hesitant, Donny nodded. “Monthly,” he agreed. “We can set up a day of the week and go from there.” 

Turning that thought over in her mind, she said, “First Saturdays. My Senior year starts in two weeks,” she told him. “Weekdays are gonna be out.” 

And now that she was thinking about it, she did _not_ want to finish her last year of school. Absolutely nothing about it seemed worthwhile anymore. Instead, she wanted to focus on her dancing and her lover – not necessarily in that order – and toss everything else by the wayside. After all, did she _really_ need another semester of chemistry? She wasn’t going to be a chemist. 

Still, graduating was a kind of coming-of-age ceremony, so she may as well. Besides, it’d be cruel to abandon Cassie to the whims of Mr. Broderick, the history teacher. 

That man was a menace. 

Nodding, Donny accepted her directive. “First Saturdays,” he agreed. 

Good. Now she had to run damage control with Raphael, though…

She hoped there wouldn’t be a fight from this, but her hopes were low right then.


	40. Denise

**Rating:** R (f-bombs ahead)

* * *

* * *

* * *

“It’s dark. I’ll take ya home.” 

The quiet comment from Raphael was more akin to a punch to the gut. Jocelyn stopped mid-stride as she left the lab, spearing him with a look of disbelief. He was a few steps ahead of her before he realized she wasn’t following, and then he turned around. 

After a moment he gestured her. “Well, c’mon.” 

“Are you serious?” she demanded, shocked that he was just… _ignoring_ what just happened. More so, him suggesting he take her home _right now?_ That was so unlike him. Raphael was the kind of guy who clung to every second with his girl – he’d been like that since before they’d even gotten together. She’d fully expected him to ask her to stay the night. (She hadn’t brought her prescriptions, but they’d both run out in a few days anyway so she was ready to do it.) 

He was avoiding the brewing conversation, she realized – by sending her home.

She was _not_ going to stand for that. 

Confused – or feigning confusion, she thought – he retorted, “Yeah. You gotta get back, right? Time’s gotta be close to your next dose–” 

“Don’t you go pretending like this is about my health,” she snapped, interrupting. Heat burned in his eyes at her words, but she ignored that. “You’re angry with me,” she concluded. “Admit it.” 

He set his jaw. 

She folded her arms. 

There was a lengthy stalemate then, neither of them willing to budge. She wanted the truth; he wanted a lie. There was only so much _she_ could do at this point and she knew it – he could easily just pick her up and carry her away. There’d be nothing she could do to stop him. 

But if he so much as _tried it_ …

Well, she wasn’t feeling very generous right now. His pique coupled with the shocking discovery that she was _mutating_ (however slightly) left her in a dangerous kind of state. She was absolutely ready to fight him right then. All she needed was the green light. 

After a moment he ventured – calmly, “I think it’s best if I took ya home.” 

She processed that, but her analysis came out to _he’s gonna explode sooner or later_ , and she’d rather they fought _together_ than he go and beat up the punching bag _alone_. 

She said, “I wanna talk.” 

He replied, “I don’t.” 

_Too fucking bad._ “I didn’t mean for anything I said to be hurtful,” she told him – he looked away, shuffling. “But I know it hurt anyway. So talk to me. I don’t want this clouding the air between us.” 

His breathing grew harsher, but still Raphael didn’t respond. She could see, however, that his pain had increased – the way he moved, the tension in his jaw, the hard glare he was giving the floor…it told her volumes. 

“Do _not_ bottle this up,” she warned with a hard tone. 

_Snap._

“Why don’tcha jus’ admit it?!” he blurted, gesturing with wide, sharp motions. “Say it! You’re not as cool with me bein’ a mutant as you pretend!” 

“Pretend?!” she echoed, shocked and hurt. “I’m not _faking_ how I feel about you–” 

“I ain’t talkin’ about that!” he snapped. “What was that _monthly_ bullshit?!” 

“It’s called ‘fear’!” she shot back. 

“Fear of _what?”_ he demanded. Arms wide, he blurted, “You say you’re not scared’a me!” 

“I’m not!”

“Then _what?!”  
_

By now they had an audience – Mikey, Leo and Splinter were all watching, though the moment was too awkward for anyone to interfere. Donny, as well, chose then to ease by Jocelyn and escape somewhere with a bit more privacy; she didn’t spare him a glance. 

“There’s a difference between me not being scared of you and me not wanting to _become_ you!” she shouted back. 

There was a second _snap_ behind his eyes. “Right – cause there’s somethin’ wrong with _us mutants!”  
_

 _“Oh, my god!”_ she cried, feeling hysterical. “Now you’re putting words in my mouth?! There’s nothing _wrong_ with you and your family–” 

“But ya sure don’t wanna be one of us!” he fired back, more incensed than she’d ever seen him. 

_“Jesus fucking Christ!”_ she yelled, exasperated. “Answer me – do _you_ want me to change?!” 

“I– no!” he shot back, unbalanced by her sudden question. “But that’s not–”

 _“The point?”_ she interrupted. “I love you as _you_ are, and I love me as _I_ am,” she told him. “You’ll have to excuse me if the idea that I might fucking _mutate_ kind of freaks me out!” 

_“Then just say it!”_ he shouted, voice echoing through the tunnels. Behind the anger was _fear_ , and she heard it all the more clearly when he continued, “Jus’ say this is far enough, that yer _done_ with me!” 

As that bomb dropped, her jaw fell open. He thought she was going to _leave_ him over this?! At first she wanted to tear into him, but as she realized his fear was over her leaving him, her anger just fell away. In its place was a cold chill, making her eyes water with heavy emotion. 

Now calm, she replied quietly, “I will _never_ be done with you.” 

That threw him off, and Raphael actually took a staggering step back, footing completely lost. “Y-you…” he started, confused. 

“…will never be done,” she finished for him. “If you think for even a _second_ that this is gonna drive me away, you’ve gone nuts. Honestly, I can’t think of a single reason I would _ever_ wanna leave you.” 

Now that they’d quieted down, and while her lover processed her words, she heard the others whispering to each other. Donatello was filling in his brothers on what was going on, and when she glanced at them she saw a shifting mixture of emotions on all three. No one had any more idea what to think about this than anyone else, apparently. 

Then Mikey stage-whispered, “Does that mean she’s gonna get _more_ like Raph?” 

She met his gaze; he flinched; she winked; he snorted. It was kind of cute – plus she kind of liked that they saw her as being similar to Raphael. She loved her big, emotional, poser baby, only ever thinking great things about him, so in her mind that was a heck of a compliment. 

Now the boy in question was nodding to himself, replying, “So all that ‘monthly’ stuff…?” 

Shaking her head, she explained, “I just wanna be aware of what’s going on. It’s my body and I don’t like the idea that there’s changes going on I can’t predict or don’t know about.” 

Then, hesitant, he whispered, “What if you _do_ change?” 

“Then I’ll deal,” she told him. 

“What if somethin’ happens and you get stuck down here?”

“You mean I’ll get to spend even more time with you?” she returned. 

A corner of his mouth lifted slightly – then lowered again. He said, “I don’t want ya ta change.” 

“Me neither. But that’s not up to us anymore, is it?” She glanced away. “That’s up to the mutagen.” 

Tentative, Donny ventured, “You could try to avoid any more, uh…transfer.” 

At that, Jo and Raphael gave him matching raised-brow looks. Jocelyn said, “On a scale of one to impossible…” 

Leo rolled his eyes; Mikey gave an uncomfortable chuckle; Donny looked away, shuffling awkwardly. 

Clearing his throat, Raphael went on, “‘M sorry for yellin’. I didn’t mean ta – I didn’t expect ya ta…” He trailed off, shaking his head. 

She gave a soft chuckle. “ _I’m_ not sorry,” she told him, striding closer to him. At his surprised look, she explained, “I think it’s good we had this out.” 

He tilted his head at her, as if he was suddenly confused by who she was. “Where did you come from?” he wondered. 

Grinning, she answered, “Okay, if you need me to teach you about the birds and the bees…” 

He snorted, shaking his head again. 

“I mean, I’m willing to do it, I just think it’s a little ridiculous at this point…” He cut her off by reaching behind her and flipping her hair forward over her head, drawing a series of giggles out of her. 

Shaking her head to dislodge the messy curls, she quipped, “Aw, wanna fight, eh?” When he gave her a calm, arched-brow look, she dropped into (what she thought was) a defensive stance. 

Raphael just snorted, then seized her and pulled her against him as she gave delighted laughs. They engaged in a tiny wrestling match, him reaching for her and her trying (and failing) to deflect his hands. He was still careful of her back, she noted, touching only her shoulders or hips, but she was glad he was playing with her again. It ended with him securing her side against his chest, arms around her. 

He commented, “That was the _worst_ stance I’ve ever seen.” 

Nodding, she chuckled, “Yeah, yeah, okay, laugh it up, Mr. Miyagi.” 

He gave her a surprised look. 

“I _saw_ Karate Kid, you know,” she informed him. “…Once.” He snorted, and a low chuckle nearby reminded her that they had an audience; when she looked, however, only Splinter remained. The brothers had apparently dispersed, going back to whatever they’d been up to before the fight had drawn them in. 

Gesturing the rat, she demanded, “It’s a good movie, right?” 

Splinter just shook his head, retorting, “Banzai!” 

Then came Mikey’s voice from elsewhere, calling, “ _Banzaaaaiiiii!”  
_

She shouted back, “Banzai!!” 

Then suddenly _everyone_ was doing it, and Jocelyn couldn’t help doubling over with laughter as she heard every single one of them yelling ‘banzai’ from various places in the Lair. They were such _kids_ sometimes, those brothers, and she loved it. 

Maybe the guys weren’t very alike, but in moments like these, she was delighted to see how close they really were. 

Grinning at Raphael as the tide died down, she said, “I love your family.” 

He grinned back, shaking his head. “You should try livin’ with ‘em.” 

His tone suggested a warning, but she replied, “Maybe someday, I will.” 

That made him go quiet, looking at her with utter disbelief. He got out some kind of broken syllable, then cleared his throat. It wasn’t quite the same choked noise he used to make so commonly, but it was close. 

“I really should take you home,” he said then, and she had to admit he was probably right. 

Still, she pouted. “I don’t wanna.” 

“Jocelyn…” he sighed. 

“I’ve been stuck in that apartment for the last two weeks, Raphael,” she informed him. “I’m an extrovert. It’s freaking stifling. At least give me, like…a few hours.” 

He considered that, tilting his head, and asked, “What about your doses?” 

She shrugged. “I don’t need the pain meds anymore and I don’t think I ever needed the antibiotics,” she told him. “I’m sure I can stop taking them.” 

Suddenly Donny’s voice reached them, calling out, “You should never stop taking medications until either the pills are gone or the doctor says otherwise.” 

She groaned. “Oh, my god, who asked _you?”_ she complained. When she looked around, though, she didn’t _see_ him – was he listening from his lab? Like nearly every other doorway in here it just had a plain curtain for a door. With the clear acoustics of this place it blocked _nothing_ in terms of sound. 

While Raphael chuckled, Donny explained, “Just because you _feel_ fine doesn’t mean the meds aren’t working. If you stop now and there’s an infection, it’ll just evolve and get worse and then medications might not be able to stop it. It’s a risk.” 

She gave Raphael a pained look. He gestured the lab, saying, “You heard the man.” 

Narrowing her eyes, she whispered, “Traitor.” 

He snorted. 

* * *

A week later Dr. Moore removed the last of her stitches, commenting with disbelief that well over half her lesions were already healed and the bruises were _gone_. Only a few remaining criss-crossed scabs remained. It made Jocelyn secretly _very_ happy that the mutagen was working in her favor, however slight it might be. 

“You _should_ be able to resume your ballet lessons,” he told her – she’d complained to him more than once that she couldn’t dance, so he knew this was vital to her. “But you should still keep it easy anyway.” 

“Noted,” she answered, smiling to herself. 

Over the last week several things had happened. First, she informed her mother about the mutagen – Cecilia was absolutely _horrified_ …right up until Jocelyn explained that it was helping her heal. Then Cecilia became stuck in a good-but-bad mindset, constantly weighing the pros and cons, trying to figure out if this was going to be bad in the long run. 

Considering neither of them could predict how this would go, Cecilia eventually let it be with a warning that Jo should, at least, “roll back” on the “affections” with Raphael. Jo gave her a token promise, expecting that no matter how she tried resisting him it just wasn’t going to work. 

Then came her official identifying of her attackers, now that she could venture outside her apartment again. Alejandro and his closest buddy were easily identified just from the fact that they’d been brutalized and were still healing. In particular, Alejandro had to be wheeled into the lineup via a wheelchair. And even with a swollen cheek from what was obviously a broken jaw (Raphael told her he’d paid the man a visit after he’d confessed verbally to his crimes; now she knew exactly what that visit had entailed), she had no trouble recognizing him. 

The other two, she found, were easiest to pick based on how _guilty_ they looked. Sure, she also recognized them easy enough – one with his square face and sharp chin, the other with his surprisingly large nose – but what gave them away was how horrified they seemed to be with themselves. 

No one else in their lineups looked remotely regretful or ashamed. 

The officer who’d escorted her through the precinct knew her by name, and though at first that kind of freaked her out, he eventually introduced himself as Officer Jones – April’s boyfriend. He’d specifically asked to be the one to guide her through this, thanks to the somewhat personal nature of the attack. Besides which, he’d been the one to officially question and procure confessions from two of the men. 

When he told her that those men regretted everything, she nodded, processing that. 

Then she said, “Guilt by inaction. They had three minutes to stop it and didn’t. They get no sympathy,” she told the officer. 

He seemed to agree with her, smiling and nodding. 

Though she was offered to read the statements and confessions by the perpetrators, she declined. She didn’t particularly want that in her head. 

Then, at last, she could attend her ballet school again. She strode into the building with relief and nostalgia, glad to be back – as if this school were a second home to her. Once she was changed, trading hugs and jokes with the other girls, she headed out to the main floor – 

– and into a chorus of cheers and thrown confetti. Miss Dubois had thrown her a return party. Someone had brought a _giant_ cake, even, and the dancers all paused to grab a slice. Jocelyn, in particular, chose a _huge_ piece – it read “welcome back, Jocelyn!” on it, and she picked her whole name. 

No one had brought forks, though, so they had to eat with their hands. Three slices got dropped on the floor as a result, and Cassie leaned over and took a mouthful of Jocelyn’s piece when she was looking away. Honestly, even though that started a play-fight, she couldn’t have wished for a better first-class-back. 

Some of the girls worried over her back, but Jo told them it was fine. As long as she didn’t curl up into a ball there was really no way she could possibly hurt it now. She even managed to snag Denise back from Jessica, who’d taken over the role when Jocelyn seemed like she wouldn’t be able to make it. And thanks to some conversations with Raphael she’d had in the meantime, Jo had a new idea for Denise. 

Kat, the girl writing the story, immediately agreed to Jocelyn’s suggestion – luckily it was part of Denise’s solo, so no other dances had to be altered to fit it. Now all she had to do was catch up and learn to dance on wet surfaces – in the next two weeks. 

Provided she managed it, though, it was going to be _glorious_. 

* * *

“Can’t believe you dragged us here,” Leo whisper-complained. 

Raph just rolled his eyes. “You invited yourselves,” he corrected, getting into the spot he’d already determined was the best seat in the house. 

Sure, they were in the rafters above the audience, and he had to be careful with his steps so the wood wouldn’t creak under him, but this vantage point was, honestly, the best spot. 

“Yeah, and then you dragged us here,” Leo quipped. 

Mikey snickered. Raph reflexively shushed him – ignoring his elder brother’s comment entirely. Leo was just teasing anyway and Raph knew it. Besides, who had time for bickering? Today was the day! 

It was the first play, Jocelyn included, that Raphael had ever seen. He couldn’t wait to see her – between all her practicing and the little hints she’d been dropping about her official routine, he was excited. But she’d also warned him that while Denise is introduced early on, _her_ solo wasn’t until a little after the halfway point. The play itself would take the whole procession two hours…which meant he wouldn’t get to see her months of work until over an hour had passed. 

_So_ unfair. 

Still, as the guys all got into respective seats to watch, Raph found he didn’t mind the idea of waiting. He’d get to see her on that stage at least once before the solo, so it wasn’t _too_ bad. The fact that she’d basically been teasing him for _months_ on what this play entailed had only increased his desire to see it fully finished. 

To his surprise, though, it started with an introduction. A dozen girls and boys walked onto the stage in their costumes and stood in a line. Then the Matron, Miss Dubois, introduced the dancers and their characters as the dancer in question did a little bow or curtsy. 

[**Already he thought Jocelyn looked enchanting.**](https://www.deviantart.com/dragonslover1/art/Denise-734135649) Her hair was up in a tight bun (but still _wildly_ curly), no visible makeup on except for mascara, and wearing a little black dress kind of costume with flowing, sheer skirts. 

He suddenly found himself wondering if she could take that costume home with her. He’d love to “see” it a little more close-up…then peel it off her. 

The play started in another minute, an orchestra off to the side providing the music for the procession. Raph hardly picked up any of it – not because it wasn’t impressive, how those performers lined up and danced in harmony, but because Jocelyn wasn’t _there_ for most of it. He only really retained anything when she was on the stage. 

Then came her – Denise’s – solo. For a few moments she danced alongside Cassie, the two characters obviously friends…and then Cassie just turned and left. She didn’t even _dance_ off stage – she _walked_. If not for the way Jocelyn reacted, keeping poised in how she gestured and non-verbally pleaded, he might’ve thought it wasn’t part of the play. 

The way she danced, then, was emotional as _hell_. Even her expression played a role, showing pain and crushing disappointment. And the more she danced, the _quicker_ she danced; it was as if she were falling into a frenzy, driven by internal conflict. And it gave Raphael a strong _pang_ in his chest. 

It wasn’t so long ago that she’d confessed to him how she’d been depressed when they met, getting more desperate and lost by the day – and he saw that reflected in this dance. Once, Jocelyn told him she’d been inadvertently delving into her own emotions to reach Denise. 

Now she was doing it intentionally. 

It reached a head when she collapsed on the stage, and Raph reflexively started pushing himself up – Leo and Donny both grasped his arms to stop him. Honestly, they wouldn’t have been able to hold him back if he really thought Jocelyn had been hurt on that stage; it was lucky for them, then, that he noticed the lighting change in time with her motions. When she fell, the lights cut out. 

Obviously just part of the dance. 

For a moment she sat there, on her knees, her side to the audience, only a small amount of backlighting illuminating her. He couldn’t see much from his high vantage, but he _thought_ he saw…tears. A pair of tiny droplets hitting the stage. Then came her second act: rain began pouring on the stage. They’d set things up to work with this feature, clearly, as the water all poured to one corner – opposite the orchestra. 

Then Jocelyn got back up, pulled her hair free of the bun, and started again. As she slowly grew drenched from the downpour, once more her dance began to take on a frenzied beat…but this one was different. Before she’d just started doing pirouettes until she “slipped”; now she danced more like she was part of a salsa. She still kept on her toes for most of it, and she did spins and kicks he recognized from her practices, but the genre had notably changed. 

Though Raphael was concerned she might slip and hurt herself, she didn’t seem to make a mistake. He was tense as hell, even as he marveled at the incredible creature he’d managed to snag for himself. For a brief second he imagined being backstage – or, hell, in the front row – to see her from much closer. It made him want to have her give him a private showing later, with the water effects and everything. 

She was just…so enchanting. 

Before he knew it – or was ready for it – her dance ended. Standing on her toes, ankles crossed, she lifted her hands into the air and leaned back, her wet curls cascading down past her thighs as her head dropped. Gorgeous though she was, this only made him _more_ stressed. 

Balanced like that, on a wet surface? She could _slip!_

Applause rang out – Mikey included – and the act ended. The curtains drew in, crossing over her and blocking Raphael’s sight. At that moment, he despised those drapes. 

Seconds passed, the only audible sound that of the audience quietly murmuring and people on the stage clearly cleaning up. 

Then Leonardo ventured, “Okay…that was really cool.” 

Raph smirked. “Told ya she was bad ass,” he commented. 

“That was _really_ dangerous, though,” Donny said. “Water can make _anything_ difficult to walk on, but on top of those slippers, dancing on her _toes?_ Someone needs to tell her not to try that again,” he added towards Raph. “The odds won’t favor her forever.” 

“Oh, trust me,” Raph told him, “we’re havin’ a talk later.” Then, realizing that Mikey had been silent this whole time, he glanced towards the youngest. Catching on, Donny and Leo did, too. 

Mikey, hands clamped over his mouth, was tearful and struggling to fight off sobs. When he saw his brothers were looking at him, he turned his back, giving them his shell. Taking shuddering breaths, obviously embarrassed, he ignored them. 

“Awww,” Leo whined. 

“Shut up!” Mikey snapped – the words offset by how broken his voice sounded. 

Raph, Leo and Donny shared a look, silently agreeing to a course of action. And while the stage below continued to be cleaned and readied for the next act, the three brothers leapt on their youngest, hands patting and arms hugging while Mikey flailed and fought them back.


	41. More

**Rating:** XXX (swearing/sex)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Once her solo was over, Jocelyn headed backstage, full of euphoria. She cheered and pranced, laughing aloud. She was proud of herself – namely for _nailing_ that last move. That pose was the hardest one on her, trying to keep balanced on a slippery surface while arched back was _way_ more difficult than the twists and leaps she’d been doing moments before. 

A chill set in almost immediately, but they’d dealt with this in practice before; a stagehand immediately helped her into a robe. She exchanged pleasantries as she wandered back to the changing rooms, hurrying to change out of her wet clothes. Congratulations were slung at her every step, and she was eager to return them – which meant getting changed as quick as she could and getting back to the stage so she could watch the rest of her troupe perform. 

They had fifteen minutes while the next scene was set up, at least. And, honestly, the rest of the play went _phenomenally_ well. 

She was _just_ egotistical enough to imagine the raucous applause they received was, in large part, thanks to _her_. But, in fact, the credit wasn’t hers to take – it was Raphael’s. It’d been a month prior when a talk with Raphael about Denise’s role ended with him saying, “She sounds really strong.” 

_Click._

Denise, the human punching bag, _just didn’t break._ Every time she got knocked down, she got back up again. Jocelyn’s solo highlighted when enough became _enough_ – when she was done being a whipping girl. Denise didn’t just _get up again_ that time. 

As water poured over her, she lit up like a flame. That was the purpose of the glittery gold design to Jocelyn’s costume: mimicking a flame. The dance became a pivotal moment for the play in general – sure, it’d been long planned that the first half was tragedy and the second half was victory, but Denise’s solo now represented that transition. Two dances had swapped places to fit with it, but other than that nothing had needed to be changed. 

And, as far as Jo was concerned, it was all thanks to Raphael. She owed him a great deal. Knowing he was out there somewhere – with or without his brothers, she couldn’t guess – had only made her more determined to be _perfect_ during the dance, and making her ready to reward him. 

At the end of the performance, the cast and crew stepped out and bowed – not just the dancers, but _everyone_ involved, from the stagehands to the lighting controllers to the orchestra (instruments included for most of them). And she thought she heard, amongst the cheering, one voice in particular, standing out from the rest. 

She could see nothing, but she could guess where he was. When she lifted her gaze to the ceiling, shrouded in darkness, there was a hitch to the cheers. She grinned. She might not be able to see him, but now she knew where he was. 

They retreated backstage again, the dancers chatting as the stagehands began disassembling everything. Miss Dubois had praises galore for the group, and after taking some time with their matron, they finally dispersed. Anyone still in costume went to the changing rooms, some showering off first, some not. Jocelyn didn’t – she’d received a shower already, ha-ha. 

Once she was dressed to go home, however, she lagged behind. She promised to lock up and return the keys to Miss Dubois when she was ready to go. Her excuse? She wanted to reminisce. To this end, she lingered in the changing room, then wandered out to the stage. Her slippers were packed up, but she removed her heels to at least play around on the stage for a while. 

It was while she was dancing with her eyes closed that she knew Raphael was near. By now she was so attuned to him that she could _feel_ him. His hands caught her as she spun in place, arms banding around her. As he pulled her back against him, she inhaled deep, loving how quickly his reptilian scent enveloped her. 

“You were incredible tonight,” he growled in her ear. 

She grinned, leaning into him. “I didn’t see you out there,” she murmured back, “but I _felt_ your eyes on me.” 

“Not surprised,” he said, starting to nuzzle into her cheek and neck. “I was starin’ pretty hard.” 

“Mmm,” she hummed. “See anything you particularly liked?” 

He nipped her neck, drawing out a shiver. “You,” he purred. 

She tisked, even as his reply pleased her. “I meant _besides_ me,” she clarified. 

“That dress,” he said, running his nose down to her shoulder. “Looked like you were wearin’ a fire.” As he spoke, his hands were petting her hips and belly. 

“That was the point,” she gasped, getting distracted by the way he touched her. He started giving her shoulder little nips and bites, and her body all but ignited. 

He was _such_ a bad boy, she thought – getting frisky with her on a stage? So naughty. 

So _perfect_. 

“You better not be teasin’ me,” she warned, then sucked in a breath as he gave her a rough lick up the side of her neck. 

“Why?” he demanded. Pulling her chin up to see him, he growled, “Gonna punish me if I am?” God, he even _looked_ naughty, his expression full of dark intent. 

“Damn straight,” she promised. 

He grinned. “It’s like ya _want_ me to keep doin’ it,” he observed. 

She grinned right back. 

Raphael didn’t keep going, though – he withdrew from her, saying, “Still got that costume here?” 

She’d figured he’d want to see it up close, so she’d made sure it stayed here after everything had been packed up. She played dumb, though. 

“Yeah, why?” she asked, tilting her head. 

His eyes were smoldering as he replied, “Put it on for me.” 

Okay, there was _no way_ she could keep acting when he talked to her like that. She bit her lips, nodding. “Five minutes, tops,” she informed him, then headed backstage. 

By the time she was changed and had returned to the stage, he was sitting on one of the seats – though, to be accurate, he was sitting on the _back_ of the seat, one foot on the cushion and one on the floor, successfully drawing her gaze right to that extended, toned leg. 

Fucking _hell,_ he was effortlessly sexy. 

Jocelyn strode out in her black-and-gold costume, wispy skirts flowing around her legs, slippers on her feet. During the play she’d worn contacts, then took them out when the procession was done. Now she wore neither, not wanting to get her glasses wet nor wanting to go through the trouble of putting in the contacts again. At that distance, he was a little fuzzy. 

She didn’t bother putting her hair up, though, knowing her beau found it gorgeous when it was loose. And if she wasn’t mistaking things, he went fully rigid when he saw her. 

She didn’t stop, though; she walked from one side of the stage to the other, and caught his tilted-head look of confusion as she did so. Her goal was the controls on this side: she knew how to work the sprinklers, after all, and she knew her water dance was what he _really_ wanted to see. She didn’t come back until she’d set up a slow but steady “rain” on the stage. 

As she took center stage, two things became obvious: first, Raphael looked entranced already, and she hadn’t even started yet; second, she was _nervous_. Excited and a bit turned on, yes, but nervous, too. This marked the first time she’d ever danced a full routine, in costume, just for him. 

She was suddenly feeling pressure to get it right. 

The water was cold, but she ignored that. She just knelt down on the stage the way her dance required, took a moment to steady her frantic heart, and began. Her feet were a little sore from all the work she’d done today, but that was hardly a deterrent right now. She’d danced until her feet _bled_ before; this was nothing compared to that. 

Besides, her feet might be complaining, but she wasn’t tired. Aside from the fact that she’d had two hours to just rest between the end of the performance and now, she also suspected this was the mutagen at work. After realizing it was in her, she’d thought back a ways, concluding that it must’ve been influencing her for a while. She’d just never known it. 

That time she danced with Cassie all day long? She’d been exhausted, but not nearly as much as Cassie had been. She’d chocked it up to an imbalance in skill at the time; now, she knew better. 

And, now, she used it to her advantage, letting it fuel her as she put on a private show. Sure, there was no music, but she found it hard to care about that. She kept time with the strokes of her feet, the movement of her hands. And as she danced, she watched Raphael – he was her spot, the thing she looked at every time she did a spin. 

He _definitely_ looked entranced, she saw, though she didn’t let it distract her. Every motion had to be perfect or she could slip up, possibly hurting herself in the process. That would end the romance of the moment _real_ quick. 

She didn’t slip up. 

She also didn’t get to finish the dance; halfway through her routine, Raphael got up and joined her on the stage. Not quite sure what he was up to, she kept going, spotting his abandoned chair to keep herself centered. Still, she noticed that he removed his harness and belt before coming under the spray of the water – keeping his electronics out? 

Then he came right up to her and she couldn’t continue the dance anymore – both because he was too close and because she couldn’t focus on it with the way he was staring at her. 

As his hands caught her by the waist, pulling her against him, a song started playing over the speakers. Blinking, confused, she checked, “Uh, this your doing?” He didn’t look alarmed, at least, which kept her from worrying that something nefarious was afoot. 

Smiling, he half-answered, “Did you know there’s a timer in the sound booth?” 

No, she hadn’t known that – and his words surprised the hell out of her. Did he seriously go and set up a timer, estimating how long her dance would take? And he kept count of the seconds _perfectly_ , apparently; the timing was too good for him to have missed even a second. With how hard he’d been watching her, how distracted he’d seemed, this was even _more_ impressive. 

Freaking _ninja._

By now she recognized the song, and she was about to start singing when the first verse began – but he beat her to it. To her utter amazement, he began singing for her, while at the same time pulling and leading her to keep dancing. 

[](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Dgd9tsqCu3MQ&t=OTFlZmNiYzcxYTY5NDA2MDFmNWJiYmUxMTY4YWI1MDYxMTI3NTEzNSx3WlBaTkdGNA%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F171745851204%2Fthe-dancer-part-38&m=0)_To be young and in love in New York City_  
To not know who I am but still know that I’m good long as you’re here with me  
To be drunk and in love in New York City  
Midnight into morning coffee  
Burning through the hours, talking

Months prior, she’d straight-up told him that he was going to sing a whole song for her someday. He’d evidently chosen _today_. 

And it was _wrecking_ her. Raphael rarely did anything corny and romantic, but when he did it was never something little. He wasn’t the type to just _do_ stuff like this – but when he chose to do it, it was the over-the-top, singing-on-a-stage-for-her, giving-her-everything kind of romantic acts. 

It was amazing, how he threw himself into this. That he was even dancing with her, leading her with hands and steps…had he planned all this? Trained as she was, it was easy to follow his lead, but she was still surprised by him. 

“Who taught you to dance?” she wondered as he spun her out and back. 

He shrugged, taking advantage of the pause in the song to reply, “No one. Been watchin’.” 

The water continued to pour over them as the music went on, and Jocelyn grew more and more heavily emotional with each second. He was turning _her_ dance into _their_ dance, and she couldn’t express how much that meant to her. It didn’t take her long to realize what he doing, either – he was leading her, yes, participating in the dance, but through most of the correct steps in Denise’s solo. 

He’d memorized her routine just by watching it once? And then figured out how he could dance _with_ her? Cheesy… adorable… fucking…! 

_Sweetheart!_

Then he reached the “pause” in the song and everything changed. He stopped, pulling her against him, and lowered his voice. As he repeated “stay awhile” to her, holding her gaze all the time, she was _infinitely_ glad the water was pouring over her face. 

It hid the hot tears she could feel sliding down her cheeks. 

The song no longer mattered. She was too deep in love to give a shit. Lifting up onto her toes, she pulled on him, bringing him down to kiss her. She met with resistance at first – he clearly wanted to finish what he’d started – but eventually he gave in. 

**[She poured _everything_ into this kiss](https://sultrysirens.tumblr.com/post/171700192904/its-a-bit-early-cause-chapter-38-isnt-done-yet)**: her passions, her love, her appreciation, her entire heart. She wondered if he could feel it all, from her arms clutching at him to the fact she was still on her toes. To her, this was as symbolic as she could ever be, mixing her love of ballet and love for him. The fact that a lovely, romantic song was playing and water poured around them only made it better. 

But she _was_ getting a chill, so when she broke the kiss, she murmured, “I’m cold…wanna help me warm up?” 

His eyes said _yes_.

* * *

God, Jocelyn was too much for him sometimes. Seeing her dance, up close, nearly wrecked Raphael – and his counting – but then to have her interrupt his song to kiss him? It was as though she couldn’t handle it when he pulled too much romantic shit – so she reacted by destroying his hard work. 

But she also replaced it with lust, so he didn’t really mind. 

Once the water flow was off, they left – _after_ he made sure to grab his harness and belt – with Jocelyn leading them backstage. She took him right to the women’s changing room, and he “helped” her disrobe (unable to keep himself from sucking the moisture from her skin as he went). She gave him the same treatment, then led him with her to the showers. 

Fuck, she was _naughty_ , and he loved it. 

Soon he had her pinned to the wall, one of her legs over his shoulder as he knelt before her. Her fingers scratched at his head, neck and shell while he worked her with lips and tongue, the taste of her honeyed flesh making him feel drunk. She moaned for him as he worked on his task, giving cries in time with his wandering hands petting along her body. 

He was careful and subtle this time, though – he wanted her aroused and needy, but _didn’t_ want to make her come. 

Not yet. 

When he began delving a finger inside her, cautious of how tight she was, she started talking – alternating between begging and demanding more. A part of him ached to give her what she wanted; the rest of him drove him to give her inner thigh a nip in reprimand. She yelped, jolting, then speared him with a scalding look. 

“S’my turn,” he told her in a low growl. 

Her eyes told him she was okay with that. 

As he continued to lap at and finger her, listening to the breathy, lustful sounds she made, he was struck – for the umpteenth time – by how lucky he was to have her. Catching that song in the air that first night was easily the luckiest moment of his life. Who would’ve thought, as he watched her twirl and pivot on that rooftop, that they’d end up here – making love in a shower at her dance school? 

Not only did it leave him dumbfounded and lovestruck, but it also gave him hope for his brothers. One lucky moment, one second of listening, had led to _this_. 

He found himself certain, at that moment, that his brothers would all have their own similar lucky days. 

Now Raph let those thoughts fall away, giving his lover his full attention. She was already so slick for him, steadily erasing his focus the deeper his finger slipped into her. Then, recognizing that she was close to orgasm, he stopped; he diverted his kiss to her belly and thighs, drawing his finger from her confines. 

She whined. “Oh, c’mon, baby, don’t do me like that,” she pouted. 

He grinned at her, all wicked intentions. And he loved how her speech altered when he got her riled like this – usually she was as well-spoken as Leo and Donny, never slurring. But when he got her needy – or she got notably angry, he’d noticed – her speech started going New Yorker. 

Like him. 

He found it sexy as hell. 

“Ya want me t’make ya scream?” he asked her. 

Her eyes darkened. “Fuck yeah,” she breathed. “Hit me, baby.” 

He reached up beside her to turn the water up a little hotter, then dove back in. He gave her no mercy this time, sucking at her flesh insistently as his finger worked on loosening her inner walls for him. A part of him was surprised he never felt impatient, having to go through this every time, but her reactions always made it worth the effort. With every delve and curl of his finger, she bucked and writhed against him, all but _singing_ her pleasure for him. 

And when he got both fingers inside, god, that was so much better. She always, _always_ ended up coming for him when he did this – half because he _made_ her, intentionally teasing and petting her g-spot. And, fuck, he loved how she came, how she gripped him and thrusted against his hand, crying out for him. 

He liked it slightly less so how she tended to go boneless afterwards, forcing him to hold her up while she recovered. Still, he took the opportunity to nibble and kiss her, petting her water-slicked skin. He knew the instant she was ready for more because her hands seized the edge of his shell as she forcibly hauled _herself_ into his arms. 

Needy little human, his Jocelyn. 

Her legs seized his hips with no direction from him, arms linking around his neck to bring her flush against him. It actually left him just a little bit surprised – she was lusty, yeah, but she’d never been _this_ lusty, this demanding. She clung to him like a vine, tongue thrusting into his mouth in a rough kiss. 

This was…a little bad, though. The lustier _she_ got, the lustier _he_ got – her need made him want to shove her against the wall and pound at her until the _wall_ no longer stood. When he felt her reach down, seize his cock, and position the tip at her entrance, he almost freaking did it. 

One hand caught her by the hips, his opposite arm braced against the wall behind her shoulders to keep some distance between her hot skin and the cold porcelain, and then he helped her guide him inside. By now they were _good_ at this, having figured out just how to angle his cock right to let it slip inside without difficulty. 

As he breached her, he groaned; she hummed. God damn, entering her always left him feeling briefly dizzy. He had to take a moment, fighting against his impulse to start hammering at her, to remind himself to be gentle with her. This wasn’t a soft, giving bed – he had her against a solid damn wall. 

Jocelyn didn’t make it easy on him. When he didn’t start thrusting right away, _she_ did, arms and legs working in tandem to fuck him. And, _shit_ , the way her body moved, snaking against him, was _incredible_. It didn’t help that she decided to start biting at him, either, making him groan and shudder as her teeth pinched at the flesh of his neck. 

He tried telling himself it was too soon to just start going at it – it always took a little while before she could take _all_ of him – but the wanton creature in his arms overrode his more chivalrous intentions. He wanted to give her time to adjust to his size; she murmured in his ear, “Fuck me, baby.” 

Just like that, he was done fighting. 

He tried to retain some measure of sanity, though. As he started thrusting into her with hard, rough strokes, drowning in the pleasures her body offered and the sound of her orgasmic cries, he focused on the feel of her body against his forearm. A part of him kept aware of what he was doing based on how hard she was shoved against him, careful not to give her too much. 

But as he kept going, spurred on by her clenching walls and clawing fingers, it grew steadily harder to tell what “too much” was. Her wordless cries seemed to keep asking him for more. And, god, he wanted to give it – he _ached_ to fulfill all her desires, even as a part of him kept reminding him that he _couldn’t_. Too much strength and this would be the last ballet of her life. 

Fuck, he tried, but Jocelyn had him mindless in no time. Between her scent, her cries, her biting and clawing, and her fucking _pussy_ , he was gone. He railed against her the way his hips demanded, and damn it, she came for him. He’d intended to draw this out longer; her body refused.  

Raph kept going all through her climax, struggling to hold on through her clenching walls milking at him – right up until she moaned, “Cum inside me, baby…cum inside me…”  

 _Fuck!_

They hadn’t done that since discovering she was taking on his mutagen – both of them just a little too uncertain about the ramifications to allow it. Despite how incredible it felt to them _both_ , cumming inside her, they’d agreed to not do it anymore. 

Evidently she’d changed her mind. 

Though he knew he shouldn’t, her directive was too powerful to be resisted. As lingering shudders from her orgasm continued to race through her, he came, letting it surge inside her again for the first time in a month. God damn, they hadn’t lasted long, had they? 

Panting and biting her neck – unable to resist his instinct to bite when he was this turned on and her neck was that close – he kept their hips sealed together, kept himself buried to the hilt inside her. Each pulse of his cock was met with an answering clench of her walls, their bodies’ pleasures feeding off each other. 

He groaned as the rapture faded, clutching his lover to him, a little dumbfounded as to when he’d gone from bracing an arm against the wall to holding her tight against him with both arms. 

And then, breathless, she murmured, “Oh don’t stop…gimme more, baby.” 

By now they both knew that if he kept going, his dick stayed hard – but she’d never _asked_ him for it before. He gazed at her with surprise, wondering when she’d decided to start demanding more. Until now, it’d been the opposite – she told him to give her time in between bouts, give her time to recover. 

The fact that they’d both climaxed and she was immediately asking for more threw him…and pleased him. God, he’d always wanted to just keep going until _he_ was sated, but that’d always been an impossible dream. Jocelyn couldn’t handle _all_ of him. 

The idea aroused the hell out of him, though, so even as he told himself he’d have to stop after this, he did as bade. Her eyes rolled back, then slid closed, as he started pumping her again, going slow and gentle for the moment. They were both sensitive after their orgasms, after all; it only made sense to take things easy. 

For now. 

“What’s possessin’ you today?” he wondered aloud, watching her. Her skin was beautifully flushed – both from the exertion and the hot water – soaking wet, her hair stuck to her face and breasts, and she was still undulating against him. She looked _fatal_ , capable of killing your average human with a glance. 

And despite the workout he’d given her, she wanted more of him. It was unbelievable. 

She smiled at his comment, giving him a naughty look. “Dunno,” she answered, still catching her breath. “I just really need more of you.” 

_Fuck_ , that turned him on. He leaned in, catching her mouth in a kiss, thinking to himself that he’d give her anything she wanted, whenever she wanted it. All she had to do was say the word. 

It didn’t take long for her to start giving directives again – demanding he go faster, deeper, that he give her more. And she praised the living hell out of him whenever he did as asked, petting him, kissing him, and telling him how good he felt inside her. 

“That’s it, baby, like that – oh, fuck, you feel so good – god, I love you – you drive me crazy–” 

The tide just kept coming, making Raphael steadily devolve to needy growls. He loved when she talked to him, when she told him how good he was, and even more so when she did it on breathless moans and cries. She was giving him all of the above now, driving him to rail her all over again – only this time he had her trapped in his arms, holding her still as he fucked her mindless. 

She came against him long before he was ready to come, though, so he forced himself to slow down with a heavy shudder. He rode through her orgasm with gentle motions, giving her time to recover before he got into it again. For a moment he felt her legs go slack against him and almost stopped altogether, concerned he was giving her too much –

– and then, with a shocking renewed bout of energy, she seized his face, kissing him hard as her legs yanked him into her. _Shit_ , he was going to lose _his_ mind at this rate! 

His body was starting to feel the workout now, unused to this much of this particular brand of exercise. But rather than deter him, it spurred him on; the rush of adrenaline in his muscles felt amazing, driving him to keep going even when reason demanded he stop. 

By the time he reached his second orgasm Jocelyn was quaking in his arms, even her _moans_ shuddering with pleasure and exertion. His rapid, hard thrusts had reduced her talking to strangled whispers, and _shit_ if that didn’t turn him on even more. 

She didn’t ask for it this time, but after the way she’d aroused him he was incapable of pulling out; he came inside her for the second time in a row, shouting at the ceiling as the pleasure of it crashed into him. Fear of giving her too much kept his hips still as he flooded her with cum, but all that seemed to do was trigger her own orgasm in return. 

She gave a weak, peeling cry, nails biting into his flesh, as her climax took her. And just like before, their orgasms fed off each other, every pulse and clench met with another. 

It left him feeling dizzy, growling, and utterly pleased. 

And then Jocelyn murmured against his neck, “Oh, don’t stop…” 

_….Son of a bitch…._

A stronger man would have resisted her request. Knowing this would undoubtedly leave _him_ weak and _her_ unconscious should have been enough to deter him. 

But Raphael had been wrapped around her little finger since their beginning, and there was no denying her now – let alone after the incredible pleasure she’d given him. 

Still panting for breath, she demanded, “Fuck me more.” 

He really shouldn’t. 

But he did. 

He gave them both time, though; he took Jocelyn to a bench – shutting off the water before it could turn ice cold – and started worshiping her body with hands and mouth. He laid her back with her legs spread for him, giving a shudder of pleasure at the sight of her leaking his cum. 

Then he got to work, catching his breath as he roamed her delicious, tanned flesh. Jocelyn got no such mercy, his attentions keeping her breathless and moaning. His cock had already receded, but by now he knew how long it’d take for it to make another appearance. Until then he left his lover’s abused cunt alone, giving her time to recover. 

He was surprised by her resilience, too – the first time they’d made love, she’d had enough after two rounds with him, and that was with a break in between them. He’d had to beg for a third. Now she was _demanding_ more, hands petting him as he pleasured her. At one point she ran her thumb over his bottom lip, then slipped it into his mouth to run across his tongue. 

He gave the digit a reflexive lick, then said, “What’re you up to?” 

She met his gaze with heat as her thumb went back to stroking his lips, answering, “You have the best fuckin’ mouth.” 

She sounded dazed, he realized, and it filled him with pride. _He’d_ done that; _he’d_ gotten her so lost to pleasure she was only halfway coherent. And now all he wanted was to send her the rest of the way there. 

He avoided giving her another orgasm as he continued pleasuring her, denying her every time he saw her getting close. Soon she was begging for release, but he continued to hold out until his cock was ready to go again. Then, he drew back from her and shifted her position. He moved her to her knees, leaning onto the bench for support – and judging from her pleased gasp, she was okay with this. 

She crossed her arms over the slick plastic and gripped it as he positioned himself, coming to kneel with his legs outside hers. Hands on her hips, he pushed inside, her body so loose for him by now that he didn’t even have to guide himself in. And as he slipped inside, filling her to the hilt, the orgasm he’d been denying her hit her. She shuddered and whimpered as she came, and he gave little, shallow thrusts to egg her on. 

He was grinning to himself, too, thinking how hot that was – she came just from him _entering_ her. He was going to have to recreate this again later. 

This position was something of a problem for him, though – even with her hair stuck to her back, he could see a few of her recent scars. His forced gaze to her ass then, focusing on how sexy she looked now. The sight of his penis gliding in and out of her, her perfect ass framing it, would’ve made him instantly hard if he weren’t already. It was exactly the distraction he’d needed. 

And there was nothing else like how that ass shook when he gave her a strong thrust, quivering from the force of it. He shuddered, then set in, aiming to give her a good, final fucking. 

He noticed immediately that she was past the point of talking; she’d devolved right to breathless gasps and cries. It sounded like she kept trying to praise him but couldn’t manage whole words, and damn if that wasn’t a shot straight to his ego. 

A part of him tried to keep focused on Jocelyn, on her reactions, but as it turned out her ass was extremely distracting. He massaged the cheeks as he fucked her, mesmerized by the sight of her quivering flesh. And as he worked, she got louder, even as her voice grew wispier. He would’ve thought he was giving her too much – if not for the fact that she pushed herself up on her hands and started thrusting back against him, taking him harder than he was giving. 

She used her whole body on him, skin slapping against him as she met his thrusts in the middle. Fucking _hell_ , who _was_ this incredible being? He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the bench beside hers, and gave her more. She gave a yelp at the first _hard_ thrust but continued to match him, making demands with her body now that her voice couldn’t. 

This was entirely too much for him. After everything he’d already given her, for her to still be this needy, this aroused…it made him shudder with emotion. 

So he gave her everything he had left, fucking her so frantically she _couldn’t_ meet his thrusts anymore. In moments he had her clinging to the bench again, whimpering and crying from his onslaught. And she was so wet, so slick, for him, taking him without complaint – verbal or physical. 

It felt fucking incredible, erasing all his fears and burying all his concerns under a sea of pleasure. And, honestly, it was something of a relief when she came for him again, her body shuddering and convulsing under him. A part of him was scared that this was _too much_ pleasure, that it would result in a heart attack for one or both of them if it didn’t end. 

There was no stopping his own orgasm; after that railing, feeling her walls gripping him so tight all but ripped his cum from him. She’d _never_ come this hard before, her pussy seizing him harder than he could resist. Hell, he couldn’t even _thrust_ ; the moment he tried to give her another one he felt a jolt of pain. She was holding him so tight he was stuck inside her! 

He all but collapsed on her, stopping the fall at the last second by leaning on his arm. As his cum was milked from him he slipped an arm around her hips, holding her against him despite the fact that he didn’t have to. He panted, mouth pressed into her shoulder, recovering from his last orgasm with difficulty. God, his ears were ringing, his head spinning, his heart hammering…he felt like he’d just barely survived getting run over by a tank. 

It was clear Jocelyn was having a hard time recovering, too; she whimpered, shivering, body heaving with her gasping breaths. Every inch of her was tense for several moments, and then, finally, she relaxed with sigh. It was such a relief when her walls loosened on him, as well, allowing his cock to withdraw from her. 

They both groaned as it slipped away, though, and he was strangely disappointed. That’d been incredibly intense, and he found himself unwilling to let it end. Too late for that now, though. 

He swallowed hard, cleared his throat, then growled out, “…I drive _you_ crazy? Babe, you’re gonna kill me…” 

She gave a dry laugh, then replied – voice airy from her screams – “Or die tryin.”


	42. Legal

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing/sexual references)

* * *

* * *

* * *

To be perfectly honest, Jocelyn couldn’t explain what had gotten into her. Maybe it was the culmination of events – nailing Denise’s solo, dancing for Raphael, having him sing for her, then this delightfully naughty romp in what was technically a public shower – but she’d been _driven_ to have more. Nothing had been enough. 

She’d received _six_ orgasms from her lover and she _still_ wanted more even now. 

She was forcing herself to let it go, though, knowing she could very well hurt herself if she kept this up…not to mention she’d never been fucked that hard and had never heard Raphael _pant_ like this. God, she’d exhausted _him_ , hadn’t she? But she couldn’t help it – everything had felt so damn good, her hunger becoming insatiable. 

Now, though…now her throat hurt from her screams and she just knew it wouldn’t be long before her lower half starting complaining – _loudly_. Wait, tomorrow was a school day, too… 

Well, shit. She might just have to call in sick. 

That probably shouldn’t make her happy, but she found herself grinning at the thought. 

Raphael started alternating some kisses and bites to her neck then, drawing a shiver out of her. Her poor, strained vocal cords hummed in approval, tilting her head for him. God she truly, _truly_ loved his brand of affection. 

“You were so good, baby,” she told him on a wispy breath. 

He growled in response, nuzzling into her shoulder and inhaling deep. “Ya still want me,” he murmured. 

Well, _yeah_. Even after all she’d gotten, her body was still desperate for more. “You smellin’ me?” she wondered. 

He gave an affirmative grunt. “Yer body’s callin’ me,” he told her. 

Honestly, just hearing him say that started another series of needy quivers in her belly. She still _ached_ to have him inside her, and only the knowledge that she was going to be aching _much_ worse later kept her from demanding another round. 

Yet, at the same time, she wouldn’t turn him down if _he_ wanted to give her more… 

He didn’t. Raphael just pulled back from her and rose – when she glanced back she saw _his_ legs were shaky, and it made her grin huge – then helped her up. She made it no farther than seated on the bench, her lower extremities absolutely refusing to work for her. 

She gave him a wincing smile. “Sorry,” she said. 

He chuckled. As he lifted her up into his arms, he replied, “S’alright. It’s as much my fault as yours. I should’a stopped sooner.” 

She kissed him, short and sweet. “I’m glad you didn’t.” 

Giving her a sideways look, he pointed out, “Your body’s gonna be pissed at us later.” 

She blew a raspberry. 

That got a laugh out of him. 

They spent a long time lingering in the showers after that, both because she needed help to clean up (and she kept giggling as they clumsily managed it, sometimes making _him_ stop to laugh, too) and because they just _wanted_ to. The water felt lovely, and it was clear they both enjoyed it. 

Still, eventually it ended and they proceeded to dry off and get dressed. Raphael kept nipping at her while he helped her with this, though, giving her little jolts and laughs the entire time. At the end he took the keys from her to lock up the place in her stead, and when he asked what he should do with the keys, she explained that it was a spare set. She just had to return it tomorrow – or the day after, depending on how long she needed to spend in physical therapy. 

He laughed at that, shaking his head. “You’re fuckin’ insane,” he told her. 

“Alternatively, I’ve been fuckin’ an insanely good lover,” she returned. 

He choked on a laugh. 

He took her home then, carrying her the whole way – while she pestered him with teasing touches and little nips and sucks and kisses. To her surprise, though, her playful affection didn’t eke a reaction out of him. He just smiled to himself, letting her have at it. Every so often he turned his head to catch her mouth in a kiss, but otherwise he didn’t interrupt her at all. 

It was weirdly pleasing to her. 

By the time he got her home she could walk again, but he was _adamant_ he get her changed for bed, so she stood there and let him. They lingered, though, unwilling to part, for over half an hour. At one point Raphael asked her what the hell had gotten into her tonight, demanding so much of him. 

She promised to think on that, because she still just didn’t know. Maybe it was just a moment – an aberration. After he left she thought about it in length, then concluded she just might never know. A part of her wanted to blame the mutagen, but honestly, she’d always been _lusty_. She’d just never before had a lover who could give her everything she wanted. 

Maybe it was just _them_. 

A week later the answer was delivered to her: she’d been PMSing, her hormones going out of control. No wonder she’d had so much trouble stopping; that was the first time they’d had sex during those few days. When she told Raphael, he gave a strangled laugh, admitting that ‘yep, that’d do it’. And she made a mental note to be more aware of that in the future, considering how much her body had gone through the day after. 

She _had_ called off from school, though technically Cecilia had to do it for her…and her mother was less than pleased with the reasoning for it. 

The lovers had a brief talk about it and came to an agreement: no matter how she demanded, begged or pleaded, he’d never give her more than two rounds – the rest of the time he’d sate her with hands and mouth. And although, to her, she was never quite sure when her hormones were acting up, Raphael _did_. He claimed he could smell it. 

It drove him nuts with lust, but he maintained enough control to keep their agreement intact. Honestly, Jocelyn quickly regretted it. Getting railed by him during that hormonal stretch felt _incredible_. She always wanted more. And with the mutagen hyping up her energy levels, she was getting the impression she could _totally_ last as long as _he_ could…if only he’d give it. 

God damn honorable son of a bitch refused, though. 

The play – and, by extension, Jo’s role in it – lasted for six more showings, all of them on the weekends. She only slipped twice because of the water in her solo, and both times managed to pick up where she’d left off. And though she couldn’t _prove_ it, she got the impression Raphael attended each performance. 

When she asked him straight out, he denied it, and she honestly couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. 

Once the play was over, her “training” began. As it turned out, Raphael was a pretty good teacher. Saturdays and Wednesdays were spent in the Lair with him, at least two hours a day specifically in the weights room as he taught her self-defense. 

She picked it up easily. The way he explained to her what she needed to do and why mid-demonstration, then led her through the motions, was extremely easy to follow. They didn’t take it too rough, since she still had ballet class almost every day, but thanks to the mutagen she was just about always bursting with energy by now. 

He really was a _great_ teacher. Sure, he sometimes pawed at her while she trained, and sometimes she pawed back in revenge, but most of the time he was incredibly focused. He was her spotter when she worked out with the weights, her opponent when she did live sparring, her brace when she stretched. And he kept alternating between compliments when she did things right and taunts when she complained about things being difficult. 

He got under her skin in just the right way to keep her going, the sneak. 

In no time she had _muscle_ in her _arms_. She couldn’t help admiring herself in her mirror when she noticed it the first time, seeing how her body was no longer leg-heavy when it came to build. She was worried her figure would go too masculine, though, yet when she brought it up with Raphael, he just snorted. 

“What’s more important: your figure, or kickin’ ass?” 

Good point. Still, she got him to ease up on the weights, keeping her on low-weight, high-rep routines. Soon she was able to freaking bench press seventy pounds at thirty reps and hardly feel it. It was _crazy_ – not nearly as crazy as what her thighs could do, of course, but still. 

And the training had a secondary effect, as well: the sex got _better_. She could last longer, give more – _take_ more – than ever before. And her “recovery time” went down as well, leaving her feeling up to par again after a night’s rest regardless of how much they’d gone at it the previous day. 

One of her personal favorite moments was when they were sparring, Raphael defensive and Jocelyn offensive, slowly increasing the speed of her strikes as she grew more comfortable swinging at him. And she actually managed to land a hit on him after a few minutes of this, right to the throat; the way he staggered, more shocked than hurt but still coughing from the hit, had initially horrified her. 

And then she realized she’d just gotten a hit on a trained ninja. 

The rest of the day was spent in celebration, with her boasting how she ‘won’ against him, and Raphael never argued. He was obviously proud of her, letting her have her fun with it. 

Time passed. Soon August was gone, then September, then October. Her blood tests never showed much increase in mutagen – though she noticed there were spikes in proportion to every romantic encounter with Raphael that ended with him cumming inside her. They did it _very_ sparingly these days, but enough that it was clearly having an effect on her. And aside from feeling consistently healthier, nothing seemed to _change_. 

She wasn’t getting any stronger or faster that wasn’t a direct result of her training, the effects seemingly limited to health and energy. Any wounds she got healed faster than normal, she recovered from exhaustion easily, and that was about it. It showed in her ballet classes, as no matter how hard they worked, Jocelyn was always the only one who wasn’t tired out by the end. 

Trying to avoid garnering any suspicion led her to faking it, though. 

A few of her friends had started questioning her mysterious boyfriend, as well. The hickeys on her neck were a blatant declaration that she had someone. It made her glad she always wore tights – they hid the additional hickeys that were constantly on her thighs. 

For simplicity’s sake, Jo and Cassie just claimed _they_ had gotten together. They already hugged and held hands often, so the lie was easily accepted. They’d even shared a few kisses to nail the point home…which, once informed, alternately angered and aroused Raphael. 

And then her birthday was nearly there. She was _so_ excited – over the last months she’d had the best idea for her 18th, and she’d been secretly collaborating with Mikey and Donny on it. Leo was brought in as well, but only so he could coordinate with them to keep Raphael in the dark. After all, her plan was very much a surprise for _him_ , and she was determined to keep him clueless about it. 

Put simply, she was going to get a very special tattoo. So far Donny was lined up to be the tattooist, and he and Mikey were working together to design it for her. 

Her idea was pretty badly sidelined for [**Halloween**](https://sultrysirens.tumblr.com/post/172073380354/the-dancer-mini), as her school did a Haunted House thing every year and for the last three years she had a part in it, leading her to having to practice and then perform for nearly the whole month. But it was right back on track November 1st, and she found to her delight that Mikey and Donny had been working on the tattoo while she couldn’t. 

They passed her several designs and sketches for her to peruse at her leisure, and she could hardly contain her excitement. She had to wait for her birthday to pass, though, thanks to the laws. That was fine. In the meantime she had other things to do, anyway. 

November was a hectic month in general. Cecilia took her out to finish up her lessons with her father’s motorcycle, her ballet school decided to put on Balanchine’s Jewels and she was chosen for the “Ruby” section, she still kept up her training with Raphael, _and_ this was on top of her senior year of school. 

It was a damn good thing she had the mutagen in her system to keep her energy up, she decided. She’d be spending all her free time sleeping otherwise. Instead, she spent all her free time on homework – right up until she started complaining about it. 

She was hanging out with the guys in the Lair on a Sunday when she lamented having to write up a report for her chemistry class, and to her surprise Donny offered to do it for her. When she pointed out the questionable nature of him doing her homework for her, he shrugged and replied, “You’ll learn from reading it, right? If you’re not interested in it, you shouldn’t be forced to study it.” 

Shocked, she’d blurted, “Can I just say I love you right now?” 

That got him floundering – and Raphael growling – but by now they all knew she was fully lost for her big musclehead. Nothing came of it except for some predictable teasing…and some desperate, hot sex the next time her beau got her alone. 

And Donny was _great_ at writing reports, as it turned out. He managed to nail her exact flair and mannerisms, which, she guessed, was an effect of either his intellect or his ninja training. Or both. And though she didn’t want to use him for this, just doing her homework for her, she started finding printed essays and reports in her room for every assignment that required research in her chemistry, history and economics classes. 

She never told him when she had assignments, either, so he must’ve hacked something to find the information. 

Even _more_ shocking was when she informed Cassie what was going on, then she jokingly asked if Donny could do _her_ homework too, and he apparently found out about that _and did it_. 

She got the impression he was just showing off, now. Having ninja friends clearly had its advantages. 

Then, at last, it was her eighteenth birthday. 

Jocelyn woke up, already having forgotten it was her birthday, to find her room smelled amazing. It took several moments for her to come to, and when she looked to her digital clock, she saw a bouquet of red roses on her bedside table. 

Her eyes shot open, shocked and pleased. A squeal left her as she grabbed the roses, cuddling them to her chest. A little note was stuck in them, and as she read it, her smile just kept growing. 

A cafe? And, Jesus, this was the first time he’d _written_ anything for her. She was almost entranced with the script. 

…She’d bet he wrote this exact same card like a hundred times, trying to make it perfect for her. Honestly, she’d been expecting _something_ from him, but this threw her off. Just what did he have planned? When she glanced at her clock and saw it was almost eight, she jumped out of bed and got started. 

As it was a Sunday, she had the whole day to play this game with him – minus a few hours for a birthday party, which would start at four. Her schedule was already set up to go to the Lair at nine, having a late party with Raphael and his family. The question now was just where this scavenger hunt would lead her. 

She handed the roses off to her mother, showered, and got ready to go. Since the first stop was a cafe, Cecilia opted to join her, the two of them planning on having breakfast there together – provided Jocelyn didn’t end up with another card. 

She was kind of awkward, though, striding into the cafe and asking for ‘Scarlet Dancer’s’ order. Apparently the cashier had done things like this often, because he barely batted an eye as he retrieved it. He handed her a little paper bag and two drinks; suspicious, she sat down with it and checked the bag. Sure enough, inside was another note. 

_Did Cecilia join you?_  
Half’s for her   
Your next stop is Bookman’s  
Same rules apply   
Hope you’re excited already

She should’ve known he would pull something like this. And, yes, she was excited. Even her mother looked pleased, steadily getting won over. The bag contained two giant cinnamon rolls slathered in frosting, and both of them greatly enjoyed their breakfast treats. The drinks were a mochaccino and a latte, both of them a surprise – because at no point did Jocelyn recall informing Raphael that she liked lattes, and she had no clue how he found out her mother drank machoccinos almost every day. 

Freaking _ninja_. 

Cecilia was just as curious as Jocelyn was, so she asked to tag along for the rest of the hunt. Considering Jo had a strong feeling this was going to result in her mother coming to love the big brute, too, she agreed. 

Bookman’s was, quite literally, a book store – with a bit of other but similar items like CDs, comics, board games and posters. Unsure what she would be getting here, she nonetheless headed to the cashier to ask for her order. 

She was given [**a book**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fimages-na.ssl-images-amazon.com%2Fimages%2FI%2F71vIVkwRUZL.jpg&t=OWY5MTcyYzc3Zjc0YjAzYjQ2YmQ4MjJjNzBhNTY4YTM5ZTMyMzQ2NCxlZnFqN2JCVg%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172085961369%2Fthe-dancer-part-39&m=0) and [**a poster**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fimages.bonanzastatic.com%2Fafu%2Fimages%2F3846%2F7835%2Ff496_5509906298%2Fe7a96eac9e3819dc41c2b3f1f18056ff.jpg&t=MWM1YzBjYWJiZWY1NTM3ZWQyY2Q0YWE4Y2UzYzMyYTlkZDlhNTk4NyxlZnFqN2JCVg%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172085961369%2Fthe-dancer-part-39&m=0). Both were Misty Copeland, and both were _signed_. 

Jocelyn almost started crying on the spot. 

Luckily her mother was there to help with that; Cecilia quickly took the items, stuffed them in a bag, and steered Jo to a quiet reading corner where she could get her emotions back under control. 

Her mother, however, didn’t look much more composed than _she_ was. Cecilia’s gaze was watery, though she held back any tears with the grace of an iron-willed nearly-fourty-year-old who’d endured plenty of such events. 

“…Okay,” she began, “ _maybe_ he’s right for you.” 

The little quip succeeded in pulling a weak laugh out of Jo. “How many times now have I said ‘told ya so’?” she teased. 

Giving her a smile, Cecilia shrugged, “Five or six. Hundred.” 

Chuckling, Jocelyn replied, “Well, told ya so number five-or-six hundred and one.” 

Cecilia gave a laugh, then sighed. “The downside, I think, is that _my_ gifts are never going to top this,” she lamented, looking at the bag in her grasp. 

Though she agreed, that made Jocelyn wonder…she hadn’t received another card, had she? But when she retrieved the book and flipped through it, another fell out from between the pages. 

She groaned. She couldn’t take much more of this, and so far she’d only received three gifts. 

This next card directed them to a toy store, but when she asked for ‘Scarlet Dancer’s’ order, she was just given another card – one that pointed her down an aisle. To her amazement, it was a game; she kept finding cards in the store and they kept leading her around in circles, successfully building up her anticipation for what the hell she’d be getting when this was over. 

Eventually one of the cards sent her back to the counter, where she handed over the card in confusion. Gesturing for patience, the cashier wandered into a back room. 

When the woman came back, she placed a dorky, shimmery tiara on Jocelyn’s head, handed her an equally glittery scepter, then snapped a Polaroid of Jocelyn when she wasn’t expecting it. She’d been in the middle of giving her mother a confused look, scepter in hand, when the flash caught her. 

Jo, her mother, _and_ the cashier all doubled over laughing from the absurdity of it. Once she was given the photo, she left, thanking the cashier for playing along with this ridiculous game. The back of the photo gave yet another destination, and so the scavenger hunt continued. 

## “Happy birthday!” 

The shouted welcome, accompanied by tossed arms and confetti, went up the _instant_ Jocelyn stepped foot in the Lair. Raphael was leading her, and Cecilia was following her – per her mother’s request. 

Once all the scavenger hunt had ended (resulting in, aside from the roses, tiara, scepter, book and poster, an additional three items: a phone-case-slash-battery, a pair of _gorgeous_ beaded [**heels**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.cuteshoesforsale.com%2Fmedia%2Fcatalog%2Fproduct%2Fcache%2F2%2Fimage%2F9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95%2Fs%2Fh%2Fshoes-heels-fli-kyra-37burgundy.jpg&t=NDFkYmJhODI3ZDRmNjYzYjM5NDJkMWQwMmY5NTQ0NWIzZDZkMDhkZSxlZnFqN2JCVg%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172085961369%2Fthe-dancer-part-39&m=0), and a red-and-black yin-yang [**necklace**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi.ebayimg.com%2Fimages%2Fg%2Fz1YAAOSwNchaOqeV%2Fs-l300.png&t=MGY0Y2FjM2I4MjM4MDUzNjU0MjBkOGE2ZTg3MGQxMTE5MmFmNjE0YixlZnFqN2JCVg%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172085961369%2Fthe-dancer-part-39&m=0)) her mother had suddenly turned adamant that she go with Jocelyn to this underground party. Jocelyn had passed on the request to Raphael, who’d checked with his family and ultimately been given the all-clear. 

Her party with Cassie and a dozen others had come first, and it’d been _fantastic_. The cake was delicious, the games were fun, and the presents were a great mixture of amusing and practical. It was easily the biggest birthday party of her life, even more so than her sixteenth, but then, that was the theme: _huge_ parties for everyone’s eighteenth. Jocelyn had attended seven over the last few months, herself. 

Her friends had begged her to do a sleepover, but she’d turned them down, explaining – with Cassie’s help – that she was planning on spending the night with her “girlfriend”. And although she’d invited Cassie to _this_ party, the redhead had declined. She was still just a little too weirded out by the turtles to venture into their home. 

Now, as Jocelyn waved the confetti aside, grinning wide and pleased, she struck a pose and called out, “Eighteen, finally!” 

She gave Raphael a sly look; he returned it. Then the festivities began – starting with a little tour to get Cecilia comfortable in the brothers’ home and introducing her to Splinter. 

At first – predictably – Cecilia was _very_ uncomfortable. But after a little while of talking to the old rat, she started to loosen up. Before long she was engaged in conversation with him, relaxed and even a bit intrigued. The fact that he was just a few inches shorter than her, too, must have helped; Cecilia was so used to being the shortest person in any given room that being around someone slightly smaller helped her relax. 

It was here, as music played and chattering filled the halls, that Jocelyn was informed of something she’d already suspected: the scavenger hunt wasn’t just gifts from Raphael; every one of the gifts was by _one_ of the guys – and April. As soon as this was confirmed she knew _exactly_ who had given her each one. 

April was the only one who wasn’t attending, having had to work tonight. Even Casey was here, though Jocelyn was a little uncomfortable around him still. Luckily he was mostly just messing around with the brothers, leaving her and her sexy-ass boyfriend to their own devices. 

It was _great_ fun. Someone put on Girls Just Want To Have Fun for her (god, she _still_ loved that movie) and they took turns watching and laughing at it. Then she admitted she used to have the _biggest_ crush on Jeff and Raphael promptly turned off the movie, turning grumpy in an instant. 

She cuddled and nibbled on him for a few minutes, pestering him with affection, until he muttered an apology and turned the movie back on. 

Then Mikey revealed they’d gotten a cake for her and she groaned. After the full day she’d had, eating any more sweets was going to _ruin_ her. Still, she couldn’t quite resist taking a _little_ slice. Lucky for her, the mutant brothers had _no_ trouble polishing off the rest. 

The procession went back to the living room then, and while everyone else was distracted, Raph sneakily pulled her aside. They snuck their way to his room, locked the door, and proceeded to celebrate her eighteenth birthday in their own way.


	43. Not Alone

**Rating:** X (swearing/sexual references)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Raphael spent a _long_ time just worshiping Jocelyn that night. He couldn’t help it; aside from the fact that he just _enjoyed_ pleasuring her, it was also her birthday. Her _eighteenth_ birthday. Finally, he could be intimate with her without feeling that little niggling thought at the back of his mind, the thought that told him she was too young for him – despite the fact that they were just five months apart. 

The terrapins had estimated they’d hatched on June fourth, but he hadn’t told Jocelyn that. He’d let her believe (possibly out of a selfish desire to appear more mature) that he was eighteen this whole time. Maybe it was about time he did so. 

But for now he was stuck thinking about…the future. Namely, he was thinking about _their_ future, where they would go from here. He couldn’t stop the thoughts; something about his lover being officially a full adult made all sorts of deeper thoughts take root. 

Right now his mind was going round and round about one particular subject: marriage. If he proposed, she could legally say ‘yes’. No need for Cecilia’s approval. Granted, they couldn’t actually get married – that would require legal citizenship on his part and a judge willing to ordain the thing – but it was more the feel of the thing… _knowing_ she could say ‘yes’…that was getting to him. 

That thought, however, inevitably led to another, and this one sullied his mood. It didn’t help that he was in the midst of kissing across her belly when it hit him, either. 

The moment he hesitated, breaths growing shaky from emotion, Jocelyn noticed. She was reclined on his bed by now, naked and fully sated after how much affection he’d piled on her, and had been idly petting at him in the lovely afterglow of their lovemaking. 

Now, however, her hand slipped under his chin to draw his gaze up to her. Concern in her eyes, she murmured, “What’s wrong, baby?” 

At any other time the nickname would’ve drawn a smile from him. But now…now he couldn’t muster one up for her. 

“Just thinkin’,” he evaded. 

“You’re sad,” she observed. 

He winced at that, her perceptions piercing right through him. 

With a tisk she pulled on him, bringing him up to her. Once she’d guided him to his back and situated herself to lean against him, looking down on him, she ventured, “Talk to me. What’s on your mind?” 

Her hands went back to stroking him, filling him with sweet emotions. He couldn’t help returning the favor, ghosting his fingers along her sides and legs and arms. 

Then, with difficulty, he admitted, “I’m thinkin’…about what we have…what we can get…and…” Hesitating, he gave her a pleading look, one that said _don’t make me say it_. 

She was confused, he could see. Tilting her head, she somehow managed to gentle even _more_ , coming to lightly pet at his cheeks and neck. “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s bothering you,” she whispered. 

That quiet tone…actually helped, making the moment feel like they were sharing secrets that would never leave this room. And, finally, he confessed, “…and what we’ll never have…” 

Her expression said she didn’t get it. But it’d been so hard just getting those words out, he didn’t think he could clarify further. He brought a hand to her hip, ran his thumb across her belly – across her _womb_. 

_A family,_ his touch finished for him. 

_Now_ she got it; she brought her hand to his, stilling his motions. A measure of sorrow clouded her eyes, the sight of it making him feel worse than before. Great, now he’d infected _her_ with those thoughts, too. 

Pain clenched at his chest and moisture stung his eyes. “…M’sorry,” he mumbled, pushing himself up. He intended to leave her for now, at least until he was sure he wouldn’t bring her down further; she clutched at his arm, fingers biting, stopping him from so much as getting off the bed. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” she told him. 

Her authoritative tone managed to wring a smile from him. Jocelyn, the boss, he mused. 

Refusing to let him retreat, she moved to straddle him, arms winding around his neck as she kissed him. It helped ease the ache in his chest, the negative thoughts in his mind. 

As she broke the kiss, she murmured, “Don’t ever run from me, okay?” 

He never _wanted_ to, so he agreed easily, “Okay.” 

“And,” she continued with a note of hesitation, “don’t….worry about stuff like that.” 

That had his good mood sinking again. Glancing away, he admitted, “It’s hard not to. Not like I can control my thoughts,” he hinted. 

She shook her head, her nose brushing his cheek in the process. “Well, that’s not a conversation we need to have. We have each other. That’s enough, right?” 

Huffing a sigh, he flopped back on the bed. “It ain’t about what’s ‘enough’,” he told her. “It’s just…about what’s impossible…and what that means.” 

Shifting, she leaned down to lay on his chest – one of his absolute favorite positions with her. He couldn’t resist slipping his arms around her, securing her in place. And he just knew she’d done it on purpose, intentionally making him hold her. 

Hesitating, she ventured carefully, “Does this…does it mean if you had a choice…you’d have chosen to have kids with me?” Her expression was conflicted, he saw; she’d probably never thought about this and didn’t know how she felt about the subject. 

Fitting. He didn’t know how _he_ felt, either. On the one hand, the idea of having a baby with her was scary as hell…but on the other, a part of him _liked_ that vision. He couldn’t even begin to guess what they’d end up with, though, so to avoid any horrifying mental images he forcibly shoved the thoughts away. 

“I-I don’t know,” he answered, wincing. “I’ve never thought of…bein’ a dad. But that’s not th’ point.” 

Tilting her head in question, Jocelyn asked, “Then what’s the point?” 

Voice lowering, he began, “…That no matter what we might want, ten or twenty or thirty years from now…” Catching her gaze, voice breaking, he finished, “…It’ll never happen. Me and my bros…we’re the only mutant turtles alive. We’re gonna die the only mutant turtles alive. Nothin’s ever gonna change that.” 

His lover’s eyes had filled with empathic tears as he spoke, and now a pair of them fell – making him wince as a whole new spear of pain lanced through him. _Damn it_ , he hadn’t wanted this, hadn’t intended to make her feel sorrow on her birthday. 

And yet, as he struggled out broken apologies and made to wipe her tears away, she saw right through him and responded, “You’re not alone.” 

That just made him wince again, because _fucking hell_ , she knew how he felt without him having to come right out and say it. She knew him too well…

“Jocelyn…” he hissed, unsure what he wanted to say but needing to speak. 

Catching his face between her palms, she repeated with more strength, “You. Are. Not. Alone.” She kissed him; he felt her wet cheeks on his face. 

At once he felt her soothing his pain and exacerbating it in one. And when another hot tear dripped from her, splashing on his skin, he lost his battle against control. A sob tore through him, his thoughts circling around loneliness and the limited numbers he and his brothers held. 

_Forever_ , he thought. They’d live and die, forever the only humanoid terrapins to have ever existed. Even if all four of them ended up with girlfriends, that would still only equal _eight_. A paltry eight in their joint family. 

“You’re not alone,” Jocelyn repeated in an insistent whisper against his lips. 

Another sob was loosed, one huge, hot tear eking out; she answered it with a shuddering breath, holding tighter to him. 

“I’m here,” she told him, though her voice was strained and painful to hear. “I’m here with you, forever.” 

“Jocelyn,” he forced out past the growing lump in his throat. By now there was no stopping it. The tide he’d held back for a lifetime – the loneliness he’d never let himself examine – broke through. And with no one else here to witness it except his lover, he let himself cry out his sorrows. 

“Yes, Jocelyn,” she agreed, snuffling. She started kissing him then, a series of insistent pecks to his mouth, his cheeks, his forehead. 

And all the while she spoke, reminding him that she loved him, she was here with him, she was going to _stay_ here with him. She promised him eternity, and it made him feel hysterical – sad but happy, comforted yet needy. He heard himself give a strangled laugh in the midst of his pained, smothered cries. 

Soon he was kissing her back, if only to tell himself without words that this was real. He was desperate to stay in what he felt _had_ to be a dream, and for him, that meant keeping a tight hold on his lover. A sudden, paralyzing fear made him feel certain that the moment he let go, _poof_. She’d be gone, and he’d be alone in his bed with the realization that this had all been a dream. 

God, if that happened he’d die on the spot. 

He couldn’t explain what happened then. His need took control, his fears driving him. First he had the dizzying awareness that he’d flipped them over, pinning Jocelyn beneath him; then, very suddenly, they were making love again. Every motion was slow but desperate, from their kisses to their hands to their mutual thrusts. She was moving _with_ him, he noticed in the drunken haze of his mind, and somehow that made this all the more real. 

He gave her a deliberate, deep kiss in thanks. 

By now his mind was in such chaos he could barely _feel_. Between the odd swaying in his head and the pain in his chest, he couldn’t retain any focus for what his body was doing. Muscle memory must be at play, though, because he never so much as paused. When Jocelyn tugged at him, he moved, giving her what she wanted while she gave him what he _needed_. 

Neither of their tears ceased, not until after – wait, was that really a _climax?_ He’d barely felt anything, but his body was shivering and his lover was moaning and relaxation was starting to flood his muscles. The more he focused, the more he felt: her orgasm milking him, a breadth of pleasure starting to suffuse his body, a low vibration in his throat as his peak reached its highest point. 

In the aftermath, though, he found his head was achy and stuffy, making him groan. Jocelyn chuckled, only to groan, herself. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, her cheeks covered in a sheen of tears – both hers and his, from the smell of it. 

For a long moment they just held gazes, catching their breath and recovering from their mutual crying and lovemaking. 

Then Raph commented, “You look like shit.” 

Jocelyn laughed, shoving at him. “Yeah, you should see the other guy,” she quipped, though her voice was still a little shaky. 

He gave a weak chuckle, thinking he probably looked like hell. Ducking his head down, he hid in her neck, giving a soft grunt. “Did’ya fuck ‘im up?” he teased. 

“Oh, majorly,” she agreed. “I did just like you said: used my emotional state to my advantage.” 

That pulled a soft laugh out of him. _If you’re pissed, scared, excited – let your opponent see that. It’ll throw ‘em off,_ he’d told her. 

“…Good girl,” he murmured, smiling just a little. 

For all that their conversation had wrecked him, forcing him to consider things he’d never contemplated before out of sheer terror, as it passed he felt…better. Physically, he’d been put through the wringer – if this is what people normally felt after crying bouts, then he was all the more glad that he hadn’t done it, himself, in _years_. 

Yet his mind had settled, his heart relaxed. Maybe it was entirely thanks to Jocelyn – god knew he’d be so much worse off without her in his life – but he suddenly felt…good. Peaceful. Like he could go to sleep and when he got up he’d _truly_ feel well-rested. 

Maybe crying wasn’t such a bad thing…every once in a while. 

“…I love you,” he murmured into his lover’s soft skin. 

She practically purred in response, trailing her nails across the back of his neck. “I love you, too, Raphael,” she replied. 

He couldn’t help a grin, always so weak to how she said his name. 

The rest of the party’s occupants were less than happy that the lovers had hidden away together in the middle of festivities, throwing teases and disapprovals their way when they came back out, but Jocelyn stopped their complaints with a snarky, “Y’all want details or somethin’?” 

Instant. Silence. 

Raphael loved how she did that. And he avoided Cecilia for a long time after that, unwilling to learn what his girlfriend’s mother thought of their physical relationship. He could guess that _annoyance_ was one of the things he’d come to discover, and he’d really just rather not. 

The remainder of the party went by smoothly, starting to wind down when Casey left and then Cecilia asked to be escorted home. Though Raphael had been ready to do so – she was practically his mother-in-law at this point – Leonardo volunteered to take her home. 

It was clear the older woman was less than comfortable, intimidated by Leo’s height, but he quickly got on her good side with his polite comments and respectful nature. 

By now everyone else had dispersed. Splinter had retired to his room, Donny was back in his computer alcove, and Mikey had gone to bed. Leo only remained because – apparently – he’d expected this turn of events. 

Then came an argument between mother and daughter: Cecilia wanted Jocelyn to come home with her; Jocelyn wanted to stay the night with her boyfriend. 

It started simply enough. 

“Alright, come on, love,” Cecilia said, gesturing Jocelyn. 

The blonde hiked up her brows. She was sitting on the couch with Raphael – more specifically, she was across his lap – and unwilling to move. “Uh, no?” she answered. 

With a huff, Cecilia began, “It’s past midnight. It’s _Monday_. You have school in the morning. Now, let’s go.” 

“All I just heard is you want me to go to bed,” Jocelyn argued. “Trust me, Mom, I sleep just fine here.” 

Scowling now, her mother put her foot down. “This isn’t about _sleep_ , it’s about responsibility. You want to be an adult so badly? Here’s step one–”

“Get to school on time?” Jocelyn interrupted, growing irritated. “No problem. I know the way from here.” 

“None of your school supplies are here!” Cecilia snapped. 

“My school supplies are in my locker,” Jocelyn shot back. “They’re waiting–”

“And clothes?” Cecilia cut in. 

“I have some stuff here,” Jocelyn told her with a sly smile. 

That made Raphael give a soft cough, thinking they probably _shouldn’t_ have revealed that to Cecilia. And it was true; though he’d had a dresser for years, he’d barely ever used it, his clothing limited as it was. More recently Jocelyn had started taking changes of clothes here with her when she planned on staying the night, and after getting washed, she sometimes just left the clothes in his dresser. 

He actually, really, truly liked that. _Her_ stuff in _his_ room? It gave him a fluttering of nervous – but notably pleased – butterflies. 

Sure enough, Cecilia looked livid at that confession. Raph glanced away, avoiding her gaze…but he _did_ secure his hold on Jocelyn, expecting this confrontation to turn volcanic. Best to keep Jocelyn in his grasp, then, to prevent any physical fighting. 

Struggling to control her voice, Cecilia bit out, “Jocelyn Rhea Delaghy, you’re coming home. Now.” 

Jocelyn’s eyes hardened to pure steel. “Cecilia Desiree Delaghy, no, I’m not.” 

Raph winced, readying for the explosion. 

Splinter stepped in then, coming between the women to block their lines of sight. Hands clasped behind his back, he looked completely at ease despite the brewing fight. 

He began, “If I may? Mrs. Delaghy,” he said with a respectful nod to her, “your daughter seeks independence. This is not such a bad thing. And you know, as well as any of us, she will be safe here.” 

Cecilia glanced away, brows knit. 

Tone gentling, he went on, “And you know well by now that our children are in love.” 

Raphael coughed again at that, embarrassed as hell to just hear that spoken aloud. Jocelyn gave him a sly smile, quirking her brows. He covered her face with his hand; she giggled, shoving it away. 

Ignoring the show, Splinter said, “There is nothing wrong with them wishing to spend more time together.” 

Jocelyn opened her mouth – Raphael clamped a hand over it, stopping her before she could say anything potentially ruinous. She gave him a shocked, annoyed look; he shook his head. Best to let Splinter handle this. 

Then, as if hearing their silent argument, the rat turned to the lovers. To Jocelyn, he said, “And, you, my dear…you know your mother just wants to take care of you.” 

Shoving Raph’s hand off her face, she sighed, looking away. Honestly, Raphael was impressed. His father’s ability to make people feel ashamed for their stubborn natures was legendary at this point. He always seemed to know just what to say. 

“You’re eighteen today,” Splinter went on. “She knows – as you do – that your time together is coming to an end. I advise you to let her have these last few months holding onto her only child…before you leave her home.” 

Jocelyn seemed to deflate then, shoulders slumping. 

At that moment, Raphael recalled conversations with her in the past – how she’d said, in so many words, that she’d taken care of her mother and her home since she was seven. How she’d made it her duty to handle everything she could carry and then some, all to lighten the load on her mother’s back. Her sense of responsibility was so strong it often left him dumbfounded. 

Undoubtedly she’d be thinking about that now. But he felt it was the wrong sort of thoughts, so he ventured, “Jocelyn, babe…” When she looked at him, he went on, “You went above and beyond the call of duty for a _decade_. You took on loads far too heavy for a little girl. For once, let your Mom shoulder the burdens and take care of _you_.” 

When she remained hesitant, he pressed, “Be the daughter. Let _her_ be the mother.” 

Cecilia murmured, a hitch to her breath, “Raphael…” When he looked, she had a hand over her heart. 

He’d touched her. He couldn’t help thinking how useful that was in building up her opinion of him, but he admitted…far more important than opinions was the fact that he’d just managed to connect with her. He gave her a smile. 

She smiled back, though her eyes were watery. 

Jocelyn was little better. She took a deep breath, wiped her nose, then nodded. “Fine, fine…you win.” As she got up from him – he lamented the distance already – she added in a low mutter, “No fair, tag-teaming me like that…” 

For the first time, Raphael didn’t walk her home. He just gave her a kiss goodbye and allowed Leo to escort mother and daughter in his stead. And there was something about the picture the three of them made – Leo leading them as the two women clasped hands and followed – that pleased the hell out of Raphael. 

* * *

Jocelyn’s tattoo design went through another few variants before she selected one, finding everything about it pleasing. It’d taken another week – now damn near Thanksgiving – before she picked one of the latest sketches. The overall design was heavily inspired by Polynesian tattoos, and Donatello had gone so far as to research the meanings behind the individual parts for her. 

In the end, she felt it was _perfect_. Now all they had to do was work out exactly how to get the tattoo started – Donny was adamant they start with outlines and work on filling in the black sections later. Jocelyn wanted a color similar to her own skin tone to fill in the areas between as well; she wanted the tattoo to cover up her scars as much as it could, so that would help. 

And thanks to the fact that she knew she couldn’t hide the tattoo forever, they eventually decided to go ring by ring, starting from the center and working their way out. Donny’s analytical mind had little trouble working out the exact sizes and placement of each part, especially once he brought everything down to a grid. 

Then all he had to do was reverse-print the design with transferable ink, center the tattoo on her back, and begin. 

It hurt like _hell_. The first session just worked out the outlines for the inner two rings, but it took nearly two hours while he carefully made each line and curve perfect. They had to end things there for two reasons: first, because good _god_ had that hurt like a bitch; and second, because they were working with limited spans of time anyway. 

Raphael could only be distracted for so long, after all. Leo and Donny – and, completely by his own design, Splinter – were doing a great job of it so far, though. The first session was done when an alarm was tripped and the guys had to go deal with it. Leo directed Donny to “stay behind and monitor it”, taking only Mikey and Raph with him. Jocelyn had simply been there at the right time to take advantage of the situation. 

Trying to avoid getting him suspicious meant the next session took another damn week before they could work on the next ring. It took so long, in fact, that the tattoo was barely completed before Christmas – but luckily that meant it’d healed up by then. And although the tattoo took up nearly her whole back, shoulders to sides to just below the midway dip, she managed to keep it out of sight. 

This was hardest during training sessions with Raphael, but luckily her practice for Balanchine’s Jewels meant that training was cut short. All she had to worry about, really, was intimacy; she made sure to always face him when they got physical, and if possible she kept her tops on. 

He _did_ seem to start getting suspicious, yet it seemed more like he was aware a surprise was on the horizon. He didn’t press, thankfully; he didn’t even question the numerous times she ended up alone with Donny in his lab. After getting that damn tattoo, though, she could honestly say she’d be happy to never be in there again. 

After the first session she’d taken to keeping her face in a pillow and holding tissues to her eyes the entire time. Why the hell had she thought this was a good idea?! 

Oh right – because it _was_ a good idea. And when it was finally done, letting her take a good look at it via her bathroom mirror, she had to admit…[ **it looked _amazing_**](https://sultrysirens.tumblr.com/post/172110628829/jocelyns-tattoo-which-is-kiiiiinda-a-spoiler-for). She could barely see the scars anymore, and only because she knew where they were. 

Donatello had done a fantastic job. It looked so amazing it made her teary-eyed. And she could just imagine how Raphael was going to react when she showed him. God, it made her excited as _hell_. 

Her mother was notably less so when she found out about the tattoo. Technically Jocelyn had informed her she was planning on getting one, just not what it was or who was going to tattoo her. The first time Cecilia spotted it, walking in on her daughter while she was changing, she’d _screamed_. 

It’d taken a while to calm down Cecilia and assure her that this was what Jocelyn wanted. They’d still ended up arguing about it – “This is _permanent_ , Jocelyn!” versus “I know, that’s the point!” – but Jocelyn succeeded in getting her mother to back down. 

“It’s as much aesthetic as symbolic, Mom,” she’d explained. “For me, it represents his promise to protect me, and it covers up the scars with something beautiful and loving. And it connects us in a new way, a physical way. And those symbols? We researched those. It means I conquered over adversary and came out stronger than ever. Plus, this symbol, right here?” she’d added, pointing to the one inside the sun. “That’s Japanese. It means _koi_ , and _koi_ means true love. Do you get it, now?” 

That’s when the weight of the tattoo hit Cecilia, and soon her mother was crying – not in sorrow, but in _joy_. She finally, _finally_ , accepted just how deeply in love Jocelyn was. In a certain way, this connected them more strongly than before. 

Cecilia had fallen for Julian when she was just Jocelyn’s age. Now her daughter had fallen in love, too. The parallel was powerful. And, god, Jocelyn couldn’t wait to show Raphael her tattoo, the talk with her mother succeeding in getting her excited for that reveal. She’d bet he would tear up, though he’d struggle against it, the poser. She wanted so bad to just call him over and show him the finished product. 

Not yet, though – she had a plan, first, and it started with Christmas Eve. 

The day was already packed full in terms of her schedule – her ballet school was doing a special showing of Balanchine’s Jewels that afternoon, plus she had a generic friendly party to get to _and_ her mother’s company was hosting a party that she was attending regardless of how little she wanted to go. After all that was when she planned on visiting her boyfriend and _his_ family, though she was going to be the latest one to show up. 

That was fine, though – that just meant she got to stay the night. Waking up in Raphael’s bed for Christmas morning sounded like a _fantastic_ plan. 

By the time she actually got there, though, she was halfway exhausted and infinitely grateful for the mutagen keeping her energy up. The day had been even _more_ hectic than she’d envisioned; her friends’ morning party had included physical games (which she’d mostly kept out of), the recital was as draining as she’d expected (especially considering she played a Ruby _and_ a Diamond), and her mother’s work party included standing on her feet the whole time. 

Plus several – _older_ – men had kept trying to hit on her, and for her mother’s sake she couldn’t outright tell them to fuck off. Two of the guys had even done those testing-what-she’d-allow halfway-intimate touches, and it’d taken everything in her to not bloody any noses. Instead, she’d…made an attempt…to calmly explain to the guys that she was taken and wasn’t into 40-year-olds regardless. 

This was _exactly_ why she hadn’t wanted to go. Being stuck in a room full of horny older men who thought their jobs as lawyers granted them some irresistible magnetism, with her being a tall, tanned, blonde, literally just-turned-eighteen ballerina? 

Her mother might’ve just asked her to throw herself on a butcher’s table to get chopped up for take-out. 

But it was also because of those hawks that she wanted to be here, as well – her mother, after all, looked barely older than Jocelyn was. They were _both_ subjected to “innocent” touches and “harmless” comments. The only difference was that Cecilia was significantly less appealing to the white guys wandering around, while the “just a little dark” Jocelyn got _their_ attention, too. 

One of the balding men commented that, with her freckled nose, she looked like a deeply-tanned white girl. 

It took a lot of self-restraint to not break his jaw for that one. 

But she held out, memorized names and faces, and planned. What she was going to do with this information, she wasn’t sure, but she knew at least _two_ mutant turtles who’d quite enjoy getting a bit of revenge on her behalf. 

And then, _finally_ , the party ended and the women were free to leave. 

Now that she had her license, Jocelyn opted to drive. Cecilia looked exhausted, after all, practically pouring herself into the passenger seat. 

“I don’t know _where_ you get your energy,” Cecilia complained, slipping off her heels to rub her feet. 

“I like to think I got most of it from Dad,” Jo told her with a little smile as they pulled onto the street. 

Her mother chuckled. “I can see that,” she agreed. “Julian never looked tired, either.” 

“Bet he felt it, though,” the blonde pointed out. 

Giving her a look, Cecilia asked, “Do you feel tired?” 

“Yeah,” Jo sighed. “And I still have one more party to get to.” 

“You could just go to bed,” Cecilia pointed out. “Go see them tomorrow. I’m sure Raphael won’t mind.” 

“Oh, he’ll mind,” Jo chuckled. “He’ll just show up instead, though. And anyway, it’s not just them,” she told her mother. “April and Casey will be there too. It’s everyone the guys know and love, together for a night – how often do you think they get that?” 

Sighing, Cecilia nodded, digesting that. “A good point. You’ve become pretty good at arguing.” 

“Just a side-effect of having a lawyer for a mother,” Jo quipped with a smile. 

“Not quite yet,” Cecilia reminded her. “I’ve learned a lot, but…”

“Not certified yet, I know,” Jo answered. The conversation turned to her mother’s work, then, and specifically her immediate boss, Mr. Fuller. He’d promised to work on getting Cecilia promoted just as soon as she could pass a typical written exam. If she could do that, he said, he’d push to get her certified and recognized by the company as a real lawyer, not just a secretary. 

A few weeks ago Cecilia had taken the exam for the third time, and only failed by three points. Since then she’d been studying _hard_ , figuring out the few laws and tactics she hadn’t quite nailed yet. 

Even though it’d been almost a decade since that promise had been issued, he was still holding to it. He was a good guy, Mr. Fuller – and one of the few males who hadn’t attempted to catch Jocelyn under the mistletoe tonight. Supposedly it was bad luck if you passed under it and didn’t kiss someone, but Jocelyn had staunchly refused every time she’d been caught. 

Eventually Mr. Fuller noticed how many women kept getting cornered by those little plants and took them all down. 

By the time they were halfway home, Cecilia had fallen asleep. Jo let her rest for the remainder of the drive, though she also turned on the radio to jam out to some Christmas tunes as well. It kept her upbeat, excited for the last party of the night. 

She couldn’t wait to give the guys her gifts – especially Raphael’s. She just had one more little thing to do before she could head over…


	44. Koi

**Rating:** R (swearing/sexual references/nudity)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Jocelyn was a little late today, Raphael noted. Now that she had her license, she tended to drive here via her mother’s car, so he didn’t have to go pick her up in the subway anymore. And while he tried to focus on the festivities – April presently in a corny Christmas dance-off with Donny to Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer and Casey stuck in an endless ping pong match with Mikey – Raph just couldn’t help keeping an eye on the cameras, waiting to see her mother’s car pull up. 

When it finally did, he was at the console in a heartbeat, hitting the button that opened the doors for her. 

Eager? Hell yeah, he was eager. It was fuckin’ _Christmas_ and his girlfriend was spending the night _with him._ It was the first such event of their relationship – of _his life_ – and he was more than a little excited to experience it. 

Besides, he had a present for her he just knew she was going to love. Granted, it was a private gift…and technically it was embarrassing as hell…but she’d love it, and that was the point. 

He hurried over to meet her – only to stop and devolve into laughter when she exited the vehicle, amused as hell by [**her outfit**](https://66.media.tumblr.com/cdd5b7d72a41731c2ea91d0b48b51e9f/tumblr_p2j2mvyuEz1wtuqpio7_r1_1280.png). Her top was green and striped, her skirt red with blue plaid, her leggings dark and covered in snowflakes – and her _shoes_ had fuzzy white _pompoms_ on them! Add that to her hair stuffed into a red hat with a freaking stem on top and he was _losing_ it. 

_“What?”_ she demanded, planting her hands on her hips. 

He gestured her, top to bottom, with one hand, struggling to contain his laughs. 

She huffed. “It’s Christmas, I can dress as festive as I wanna,” she defended. 

Still snickering, Raph _attempted_ to regain control of himself. “O-okay, babe, I’ll give ya that,” he forced out. 

The stripes, plaid and snowflakes clashed _bad_ , but he had to admit she was right. There was a reason “ugly sweater” parties existed, and that reason was to make fun of the holiday as much as you could. As long as she was having fun, he could let it slide. 

Normally she knocked his breath out of his lungs with her style, anyway, so, hell, he could deal with her dressing silly every now and again. 

“Come on,” she chuckled, waving him closer. “I brought gifts.” 

Of course she did. He helped her cart her presents over to the tree they’d set up, noting how they were all medium-sized or smaller. No puppies, then, he mused. 

The moment her hands were free, Mikey was _there_ , giving her a tight hug. It actually annoyed Raph – because _he_ hadn’t had a chance to welcome her yet, himself. And now Mikey had stolen first place from him. It made the giant turtle glower. 

Worse, she gave Mikey a noisy kiss on the cheek, which he returned. They both laughed; Raph wanted to punch something. 

To his chagrin, as soon as Mikey let go, Donny took his place. Raphael couldn’t stop himself from throwing a warning scowl at Leo, outright telling his elder brother to not follow the theme. 

And, to his horror, it honestly seemed Leo wasn’t going to – _until_ Raph gave him that look. Then, smug as a devil, Leo waited just long enough for Donny to back off before he, too, gave Jocelyn a hug and a kiss to the cheek. To her credit, she looked surprised – to Raph’s annoyance, she returned the kiss. 

Then, finally, she turned to _him_ –

April jumped in, and though her height made her a full head shorter than Jocelyn, she quickly threw her arms around the younger woman, hugging tight. Jocelyn, laughing, returned the affection, and the two woman traded kisses as well. 

Nearby, Casey and Mikey were _dying_ with laughter. The pair of them did a fist bump. 

Aggravated at having had to wait so long, the moment he could Raph hefted Jocelyn up in his arms and gave her a deep, possessive kind of kiss. Tongues were utilized. He couldn’t help giving his brothers a hard look even as he did it, his lover giggling all the while, but all his glare seemed to do was amuse them even worse. 

Soon even straight-laced _Leo_ was snickering, and the three of them and April traded high-fives. 

_Jerks,_ all of them. 

The only ones who hadn’t gotten in on that lengthy tease were Casey and Splinter, and even Casey had enjoyed it. Honestly, that made Raph a little hesitant to look for his father – if even _Splinter_ were chuckling about that display…

Huffing, Raph put her down but kept her in his arms, not even bothering to stop his jealousy from being on display. 

At least Jocelyn didn’t seem to mind; she just drifted her fingers over his arms, saying, “Merry early Christmas, guys.” 

Almost in unison, all five of them returned the greeting. Only Raph remained quiet, silently giving them all grumpy scowls. 

As if nothing had happened, the festivities kicked right back up. Casey won the ping pong match due to Mikey abandoning it, and Donny took his place for round two. Mikey – the budding cook – had been trying to bake all day, leaving the Lair smelling alternatively like sweets and smoke, and he invited Jocelyn to help him with ginger snaps. Some of his endeavors succeeded, but some had been utter failures. He needed help with some of them. 

When Jocelyn agreed, shedding her jacket and gloves, Raph was on her damn _heels_ for every step she took. He ended up sitting in the kitchen while his girlfriend and brother started working on the recipe, with Jocelyn pointing out certain things and clarifying them for Mikey. 

Raph knew the moment this was going to turn out fantastic: Mikey got a look of realization, something about their chat about “sifting” clicking for him. 

Then, giving Raphael a look, Jocelyn commented, “You don’t have to sit there the whole time, you know. This _has_ to be boring for you.”

It was _beyond_ boring for him, but he damn well wanted to stay in easy reach of her. “‘S fine,” he told her. 

Mikey mouthed “liar” at him; Raph threw a fork at him; Mikey caught it and put it aside. 

“Guys, play nice,” Jocelyn intoned with a strangled giggle, trying to be authoritative and failing. 

Pointing, Mikey whined, “He started it!” 

Nudging him, she returned, “You’re mixing; keep mixing.” 

Grumbling, Mikey did so, focusing on the bowl in his grasp. 

Raph sent him a look of victory; Mikey stuck his tongue out. 

_“Boys,”_ Jocelyn sighed. 

That got both brothers chuckling. 

Though he’d intended to stay right here, eventually Raphael caught himself staring at the ceiling in utter boredom, feeling like his eyes had glazed over. Shaking himself, he got up, admitting that he just couldn’t do this. He couldn’t sit there and watch people _baking_. It was going to drive him _insane_. 

As he left the kitchen, Jocelyn slung a, “Told ya!” at him. He blew a raspberry at her – mimicking how she’d done the same to him so many times – and she giggled, amused. 

Her humor soothed the embarrassment he felt for pulling such a childish move. 

He moved on to the living room area, where Donny and Leo were currently competing in pinball on two different machines. Casey and April had taken to snuggling on the couch while a movie played – A Christmas Story – her legs in his lap while she reclined. He was idly trailing his fingers along her limbs. 

Once upon a time, seeing that pose would’ve made Raph uncomfortable to the point of hating it. Now he just smiled a little, recalling how often he had Jocelyn in _his_ lap and how great it felt. 

He took a seat on the couch, saying, “Enjoying the movie?” 

Casey rolled his eyes with a deep inhale, betraying how little he was enjoying this, while April chuckled. 

“Nope,” she admitted. 

“Great, I’m changin’ it,” Raph said, snagging the remote. 

Casey muttered a low, “Oh, thank god.” That made April laugh all the harder. 

Then, focusing on Raph, Casey asked, “How’s the baking coming?” The amused glint in his eye said he’d found the whole thing hilarious. 

“Dunno, wasn’t payin’ attention,” Raph told him with a firm, _don’t-even-try-it_ tone. He would _not_ sit through another round of teasing tonight. 

April asked, “What are they making, anyway? It smells great.” 

“Ginger snaps,” Raph answered. “…Maybe,” he added after a moment of thought. “That’s what they _said_ they were makin’.” Honestly, he wouldn’t know the difference between ginger snaps and shrimp cocktails based on the preparation alone. 

Nodding, April continued, “So when do we get to open presents? I want to see your guys’ unfiltered joy when you get to mine.” 

“Whenever you like,” Splinter answered. He’d finally ventured from his alcove to the living area, coming to take a seat on a chair. “All we need is for everyone to be here.” 

“An’ two of us’re in the kitchen,” Raph commented. 

Just then Donny crowed in victory, Leo groaning as his last ball was lost. The celebration didn’t last long, though, as Donny quickly went from victorious to driven. He focused hard, hunching a little, as he attempted to snag a new high score. 

Currently Mikey held high scores in almost every game they owned. His reflexes were easily the sharpest of any of them, making him the master of gaming – with Donny as a close second and constant rival. It was clear now that he wanted nothing more than to eclipse Mikey’s high score. 

Easier said than done, that; if Raph recalled correctly, Mikey had been on that machine for almost six hours – for _one_ game. His gaming stamina was legendary. 

Just a few minutes later, Jocelyn and Mikey strode up to the group. 

“Ten minutes,” the blonde told them. She promptly sat in Raphael’s lap, shameless and _almost_ uninvited. 

He was happy to have her there, arms banding around her. 

As he took a seat on the floor, Mikey tossed his arms in the air and sang, “Time for presents!” 

April sat up or this, Leo taking up point to hand out the gifts. Most of the presents had colored ribbons around them to mark which of the brothers they belonged to, but the rest required a pause as Leo sought out the tag. Donny ran clean-up in between rounds of present-openings, holding out a large trash bag for everyone to throw their wrappers into. 

Some of the gifts were clearly pranks – Mikey got a roll of socks, Leo got a hand puppet, Splinter got a set of barrettes – but others were much more thoughtful. April was given a gorgeous, long yellow coat; Raph got another set of weights, ranging ten to sixty pounds; Mikey got three pairs of surfer shorts (each one from a different person); Donny got a code for a digital book on ‘differential topology’; Leo was given a sword-care kit; Jocelyn got a flashy golden belt; Splinter got _two_ bonzai plants. 

In general, the guys also received a sewing kit with all kinds of threads – string, yarn, twine, and plastic and metal wire in various colors – and numerous needles and assorted tools. It was a smart gift, considering how often they had to alter things to fit their sizes and toughness. 

At the end, Raph noticed he hadn’t received anything from Jocelyn. 

Yet. 

Giving her a look, he quipped, “And where’s _my_ gift from _you?”  
_

Smirking, she returned, “Where’s _your_ gift for _me?”_

“In my room,” he answered, smirking. 

“What a coincidence,” she replied, batting her eyes, “that’s where _mine_ is, too.” 

“You guys are _painful_ to listen to,” Leo commented. 

Splinter chuckled, amused, as Mikey snapped, “Just get outta here, already!” 

Arching a brow at him, she commented, “Uh, I can’t. The ginger snaps?” 

Just then the timer went off. Mikey jumped to his feet. “On it!” he called, rushing to the kitchen. 

Raph gave her a look of surprise. “How’d you know the timer was about to go off?” he asked. 

“Thirteen years of cooking,” she answered with a grin. “You get a good grasp for minutes after a few years of it. For the most part it isn’t even conscious anymore. I just think, ‘Hmm, the timer should be about up,’ and _ding_.” 

“Instinctive,” he commented, pleased. Maybe he was just being corny at this point, but knowing Jocelyn had sharp instincts – and that she _listened_ to them – made him happy. He liked that they had so much in common, even as opposite as they were. 

She shrugged in response. “Instinctive, inner clock, whatever. It works.” 

Mikey returned in moments with a large plate covered in tiny cookies, heralded by a sweet ginger scent. Steam still rose from them. 

“…You’re supposed to cool them on cookie racks first,” Jocelyn told him. 

Shrugging, Mikey replied, “They’re not _that_ hot.” He popped one in his mouth; Jocelyn reached out in alarm, stuttering out broken words. 

At once it was clear the youngest regretted his hasty decision. He handed off the plate to Donny – the nearest one to him – as he rapidly breathed through his mouth and waved his hands, the treat burning his tongue. 

The guys all laughed; the girls groaned in sympathy. 

* * *

To Jocelyn’s surprise, Raphael didn’t _push_ to get her in his room. He was quite relaxed, in fact; other than keeping her in his grasp near-constantly, he didn’t interrupt her socializing with his family. What that meant, however, was that _she_ was becoming the needy one. 

She couldn’t wait to give him her gift – or gifts, as she technically had two. Eventually she started nipping at his jaw, letting him know she was ready to make things…private. 

The look he gave her in return was smoldering, telling her wordlessly that he’d been waiting for her signal. 

The sweetheart. 

By now the party had already begun winding down. Christmas movies were constantly playing, everyone had gorged themselves on sweets – some baked, some bought – and laughter had echoed through the Lair all night. Though it was cold outside, it was toasty warm down here, and so festively decorated it hardly resembled a sewer anymore. 

It’d been a great night and super relaxing after Jocelyn’s hectic day. Now, though…now it was time to get a little more intimate. She’d been waiting for the last _week_ to show off her completed tattoo. 

She predicted lots of clinging from her beau, and _maybe_ some tears. 

They said their good nights, waving off April and Casey when the couple decided they ought to get going. But while the party definitely _ended_ , none of the guys went to bed; by now everyone was hyped up on sugar and needed to burn off some energy. Leo and Donny went off to do some patrols while Mikey practiced tricks in the skate room. Splinter merely retired to his room. 

Leaving Jocelyn and Raphael to themselves. 

She’d barely taken three steps into his room before he caught her, holding her from behind and kissing her neck. 

“Mm,” she hummed, “eager, are we?” 

“Yeah – _we_ are,” he hinted, giving her a nip. 

She shivered. Then she felt him yank off her hat, tossing it aside as her hair tumbled free – well, as much as it could. She’d put in a barrette to style it into a half-ponytail. With him behind her, though, he was missing the best part, so she turned to face him. He completely missed the obvious, though – she’d put a pair of dark red streaks in her hair – just leaning down to kiss her. 

She turned her head away with a sly smirk, displaying the streaks as blatantly as she could, and catching his tilted-head look of confusion at her avoidance. _Then_ his eyes seized on the red tint and he laughed, shaking his head. 

“You streaked your hair?” he chuckled, looking pleased as hell. 

“Uh huh,” she agreed lightly, grinning. 

He ran one of the thick locks through his fingers, asking, “How long’s it gonna last?” 

“The box said ‘permanent’, but dyes tend to fade anyway,” she answered. “It might just last till my hair grows out, though.” 

Curious, he checked, “How long does that take?”

She shrugged. “Not sure, I don’t cut my hair. Five or six years, maybe?” When he quirked his brows, surprised, she chuckled. “You should see how long it is when it’s totally straight.” 

“Lemme guess, down to your knees?” he ventured. 

“Thereabouts. But enough about that,” she pressed, stepping back and pulling on his arm. “I was promised private gift exchanges.” 

Grinning, he followed her. “Ladies first?” he offered. 

“Mm, nah,” she replied. “Turtles first.” 

Chuckling, he guided her to sit on his bed, then knelt down to pull a box out from under it. 

“Under the bed?” she deadpanned. “So cliché.” 

“If it works…” he began, offering the present to her. 

_Can’t argue that,_ she thought. 

The present was wrapped in shimmery red wrapping paper with a golden bow on top, she saw. He was nothing if not color-coded – not that she minded. Red was a gorgeous color. When she made to open the box, though, Raphael moved back and crouched down on the ground. 

Suspicious, she tore open the wrapper with much more caution. Inside the box, however, wasn’t some kind of prank; it was a sexy little [**nightie**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fimages-na.ssl-images-amazon.com%2Fimages%2FI%2F81%252B44mdtUTL._UY606_.jpg&t=Y2JkMzFiYjUxNmNlZjhkMmNlMzM2MGZkYWU5ODg5YzkyZWUyMzcwMSxQUWZDQlc4Rg%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172214965164%2Fthe-dancer-part-41&m=0) **,** complete with a matching thong. Just as she pulled it out for a better look a flash of light caught her by surprise and she turned a startled look to Raphael. 

He was holding a camera. 

Laughing, she blurted, “Where’d you get that?!” 

“Found it,” he answered with a huge grin. 

Giggling, she held up the lingerie. “And where’d you get _this?”  
_

He turned uncomfortable in a heartbeat. Looking away, he muttered, “Ordered it online. Delivered to April’s.” With a nervous cough, he confessed, “She found it before I could come get it…” 

God, to have been a fly on the wall for _that_ conversation… 

“Well, it’s hella sexy,” she approved, “but this is more a gift for _you_ than for _me_.” 

He swapped right back to sly, then, giving her a smirk. “You sayin’ ya don’t like being sexy? …I know better.” 

He had a point, there. Looking sexy was her favorite state of being, bar none. Hell, she’d been wearing thigh-high stockings for years, and never for the benefit of boys – until Raphael, anyway. And she couldn’t help thinking, as she held up the shiny nightie and examined it, that the low back would display _most_ of her tattoo, as well. Sweet. 

A second present was pulled out from under the bed, then, and she chuckled. “Gonna snap another pic of me?” she teased. 

“Maybe,” he hedged. 

This box contained a pair of [**heels**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.bodyandmoves.com%2Fpub%2Fmedia%2Fcatalog%2Fproduct%2Fcache%2Fimage%2F1000x1320%2Fe9c3970ab036de70892d86c6d221abfe%2F1%2F3%2F1345_1.jpg&t=NGViNzRmYzIyZjhhOGJhNjI2YjZhNjlhODg2MjFjY2I0ODMzZGU2OCxQUWZDQlc4Rg%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172214965164%2Fthe-dancer-part-41&m=0), and she sucked in a breath as she pulled one out – sure enough, there was another flash, but she was far too much in love with the shoes to bother looking up. The curve, the material, the straps, the peep-toe design, the platforms…it was everything she loved about shoes. 

She had nineteen pairs of shoes at home; clearly Raphael had taken note. And, yes, it irritated her OCD, but she loved shoes enough that she overlooked that. Besides, whenever her shoes ended up on a bad number, that just meant she could go out and get more. 

She murmured, “Oh, baby, now _these_ will make a girl wet.” 

When he didn’t respond she glanced up, finding him biting his lip and eying her legs. Envisioning how she’d look in his sexy gifts? She was ready to put them on and _show_ him. 

But, first… 

“My turn,” she said with a grin. 

By now she knew he’d have noticed that she was empty-handed. Knowing him – and how well he knew _her_ – suggested he just might have landed on the concept of a tattoo by now. But she knew for a fact that he had no clue what she’d done, leaving him _wholly_ unprepared for what she was about to reveal. 

She got up, gesturing him to take her place. Then, facing him, she started to strip, watching him watching her as she did so. She pulled off her shirt, tossed it aside, then slipped off her shoes. Her skirt was next, undoing the hidden clasps in the left hip to let it drop to the floor. She turned her side to him while she rolled down her leggings, making sure to keep her fluffy blonde curls covering her back. Then came her bra – one of the few times she’d ever worn it – and, finally, her panties. 

His eyes were dark and heated by now, fully riveted to what he could see of her ass as she stripped. 

For this, she intentionally turned her back to him. She bent over to pull the fabric down, legs straight, giving him a _fantastic_ view of her backside as she went. She heard him suck in a harsh breath, heard him growl as he exhaled. It was sexy as hell. Righting herself, she toed away the panties, then deliberately looked at him over her shoulder. 

The final reveal. 

His eyes were stuck to her exposed flesh, roaming her lower half, her hair doing its job in keeping her tattoo covered. Then, finally, she reached around her neck to pull her hair out of the way, bringing it over her shoulder and holding it there. And she watched. 

Her lover’s expression went from aroused to surprised to dumbfounded as he saw [**the tattoo**](https://66.media.tumblr.com/eabff713097887122b6451223eeef13c/tumblr_p5yi4r4Its1wtuqpio2_1280.png). She saw his gaze start to jerk from spot to spot, taking in the full depth of the design, the intricacy, the symbolism. And she knew the instant he noticed that one Japanese character, stuck in the center of the sun, because then he all but jumped out of his seat. 

Seizing her hips, he knelt down behind her, staring hard. Smiling, she turned her face forward, letting him have the time he needed for this. She felt his fingers ghost over this part and that, hesitant and involuntary. 

He hated her scars. He hated what they represented, how she got them, the pain she’d suffered from them. After that one time he’d looked at her wounds he’d never done so again, had even become adverse to being behind her if he could help it. Intimacy had become strained as a result, as well. The time they’d made love in her school’s shower, him behind her, had been the first time since the assault that he’d done so, and she knew he only did it because her wet hair had been stuck to her skin. The scars had been totally hidden. 

Once upon a time her back had been a source of arousal for him. He’d touch, kiss, massage her back; now he avoided it. The texture, alone, distressed him, driving him to only hold her by her hips when before he’d wrap his arms around her any way he could. And though her tattoo did little for the _feel_ of the scars, the design successfully hid the _sight_ of them. 

Luckily the tattooing, itself, had caused her a kind of scar, leveling out the whole. And while she’d never be so dense as to say it was the same as before, at least it wasn’t as bad as it once was. 

Voice quiet, Raphael ventured, “This is why…”

“…I spent all that time with Donny,” she finished for him. Sliding a hand down to his, she ran her fingers over his skin. 

She heard him take a deep, shuddering breath. “S’gorgeous,” he whispered. 

That brought a smile out of her. “Donny and Mikey both had a hand in designing it,” she told him. 

He grunted. “Right now, don’t care.” Then, to her surprise, he slid his palm up her back, fingers following the curves and spirals. It pulled a soft hum from her, pleased with the sensations – and the fact that he was getting over his aversion enough to pet her skin again. 

Then, one digit circling where she knew the sun was, he said, “D’ya know what this means?” 

Smiling, she answered, “I was told it means ‘true love’.” 

“…True, eternal, best,” he agreed. “It means _the_ love, greater than all others. _Koi.”_ There was a hitch to his voice as he said it, and it made her all the happier. 

“Then it means ‘Raphael’ to me,” she murmured to him. 

“Jocelyn…” he exhaled. 

She smiled. “Greatest love? Yeah, that’s you.” 

He made a strangled noise, a word that died halfway through. Maybe he hadn’t said anything coherently, but that sound was full of _emotion_ , telling her exactly how he felt. 

And he felt overwhelmed. 

She wanted to turn around, throw herself into his arms, and kiss him senseless. She wanted to make love to him twice – once demanding, once giving. She wanted to express to him that, to her, _eternal_ now meant _Raphael_. She wanted so much…but she held herself back, letting him choose what happened next and when. 

Then she felt him shift, felt him kiss the sun, and she absolutely crumbled. Her resistances shattered; she twisted around, caught his face, kissed him with all the need she felt right then. Her lover picked her up, moved them to the bed, and helped her desperate hands divest him of all he wore. 

That night, as they made love, his hands kept returning to her back.


	45. To The Future

**Rating:** R (swearing/sexual references/nudity)

* * *

* * *

* * *

_This – fucking – woman!_

He didn’t get it. He just couldn’t grasp this concept. How was she so damn _perfect?_ Everything she did only resulted in him loving her even more than before. She had to be some kind of witch, he decided. There was no other explanation.

She was a witch and he was under her enchantment.

Satisfied with this conclusion, Raphael nodded to himself. Jocelyn was asleep by now, snuggled into her pillow ( _hers_ , not his; this might be his room and his bed, but he considered the entire left side of the mattress and its pillow _hers_ ). They’d showered off after they finished their bedside romp, then she’d dressed in the nightie and thong he’d bought her and gone to sleep.

She must’ve been exhausted because she hadn’t even tried to tease him first – one of her favorite pastimes. (And, he admitted to himself, one of _his_ favorite pastimes as well.) A part of him was kind of disappointed by that, but lucky for her she was too cute to irritate him right then. As she tossed the covers over her and nuzzled into the pillow, he had to fight off a rising _awww_ from escaping.

Her hair was still a little damp, he noticed. She’d tried to keep it out of the water but hadn’t quite fully managed it, leading to a few long locks clumping together and sticking to her skin. Honestly, it was kind of sexy; ever since their shower at her dance school he’d found her soaking wet locks irresistible.

He brushed her hair out of the way then, revealing her tattoo again as the nightie didn’t do much to cover it and the blanket wasn’t very high on her. And it was…unbelievable. He’d honestly never expected this – her getting a cover-up tattoo – let alone expected her full reasoning behind it. It must have hurt her so bad, yet she’d sat through it and ended up with one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. He couldn’t resist running his fingers over the swirls and designs, enchanted by it.

And he’d noticed how personal yet vague it was. She didn’t get a tattoo of his _name_ ; she’d gotten a tattoo of his _shell_ , and in a style that screamed “this is for me”. It was so smartly designed, minimizing any risks to him or her – a great deal of people got similar tattoos, after all. It was full of flourish, more symbolic than literal, and easily overlooked, especially considering it was a cover-up. It had a purpose beyond selfishness. In the end it was personal for _them_ yet couldn’t be concretely linked back to _him_.

But he hadn’t been able to stop himself from voicing concerns about it while they’d made love, and while that _did_ dampen things a bit, her answers consistently got them back on track.

Did it hurt? _Of course it hurt, but I’m a big, tough girl. Besides, I wanted it._

How long did it take? _About a month, on and off. Plenty of healing up between sessions. It’s fine now.  
_

Is it just a cover-up? _What? No. Of course not. It’s…it’s everything._

Why that design, the shell? _Hah, if you need to ask that, you don’t know me very well.  
_

Just say it. _Fine, I picked it because of_ you. _Because I want to be as close to you as I can. I want to carry a piece of you with me. I want to wear your promises like a second skin. I want_ you.

God, he’d teared up hearing that. Not wanting to end up crying – again – he’d diverted his attention and deliberately drowned himself in her embrace.

Now, as he watched her sleep, he felt those tears return, threatening once more. She meant so much to him, it was crazy. Every time something happened that left him sure they’d get torn apart, she just ended up closer to him than before.

That fight with her mother…his mindless attack towards his brothers…when they discovered mutagen in her blood…all were things that would’ve sent away anyone with strong survival instincts.

She’d stayed.

And that assault…those scars…that was when she _should’ve_ turned tail and ran for the hills. That was when she should’ve valued her life over their relationship, when she should’ve broken up with him for her own damn good. Instead, she’d used the assault as an excuse to snuggle with him, playing the “you gotta do what I say” card, as she’d put it. Instead, she forced herself even deeper under his skin. Instead, she’d bounced back, acting as if her life hadn’t been directly threatened.

Instead, she got a turtle shell cover-up tattoo.

She replaced those awful memories with something truly beautiful. And it was incredible. He could make the argument that she’d taken that horrible assault and used it to her advantage in bringing them even closer together.

Two broken hearts stitched together to make a greater whole.

Jocelyn made his heart ache like nothing else, but more and more he was finding that wasn’t a bad thing. He’d begun associating that pain with his own desire to pull her closer. And every time he did so, gathering her into his arms, the ache always faded. It did so now as he started petting up and down her spine, soothed just from touching her.

His lover squirmed a little in her sleep, humming and grumbling for a few seconds before settling again. Then he noticed her mouth was open and, chuckling, reached up to nudge it closed.

She exhaled in a huff, wetting her lips and flexing her jaw. Shoving her face into the pillow, she made a series of annoyed noises, burrowing under the blanket. It was the cutest damn thing he’d ever seen, even as grumpy as she sounded. And…

…and it was all for _him_.

Fuck, she made him so happy. Even the little things, like this very moment, struck him like a lightning bolt.

He couldn’t deal with this. It was too much. He freely admitted he’d hated those damn scars, every stray glance or touch sending a spear of pain through his chest, infecting him with guilt and sorrow. They were a constant reminder of how he’d failed to protect her, how his actions had directly resulted in _her_ pain.

To date he’d never tried to stop that, the hurt and the guilt. It was his due. _He’d_ failed her; he deserved his pain. It was his punishment. Even as he saw her move on, letting go of the mental and physical strain those wounds had caused, _he_ had refused to do the same. 

In his mind, it was the best way to encourage himself to protect her better.

And now that was over. It was just…done. Touching those scars still gave him aches, but they were fading rapidly, overridden by her love for him. This one tattoo had successfully replaced _his_ self-hatred with _her_ devotion.

He couldn’t even _begin_ to voice what that meant to him.

Maybe he didn’t have to. Knowing her, he won’t _have_ to say anything. She’d understand how he felt from a touch and a kiss, words an unnecessary hindrance. Besides, he was better at showing his feelings than speaking them, anyway.

He wasn’t sure he’d adequately expressed that yet. Deciding to try it again in the morning, he shifted until he was on his side, ignoring the pressure in his ribs from the pull of his shell in this position. Reaching out, he brushed his fingers along her cheek; when she gave a soft, agreeable sound, he echoed it.

That night he fell asleep while counting the freckles on her face.

* * *

When Raphael woke the next morning, it was to the feel of his lover squirming against him. He lifted his arm reflexively, taking all weight off her, while he grasped his bearings. She was snuggled into him again, him still on his side, and she wriggled around to face him.

The first thing he saw was wild blonde curls. He had to fight off an urge to laugh; she hadn’t braided her hair last night, and that usually resulted in fluffier-than-usual curls when she woke up the next morning. If her hair were shorter, at this point it would be considered an afro, he thought. They were defying gravity quite fully.

Jocelyn pressed her face right into his neck, huffing out a breath that actually tickled a little. And when she threw a leg over his and brought a hand under his shell to trail over his skin – an act so instinctively threatening he would only ever let _her_ do it – he felt flutters in his damn chest.

Stupid…cute…irritating…lovely…

_Woman!_

He couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his arm around her, securing her against him as his fingers played with the hair at the back of her neck.

She gave his neck a firm kiss. “Mornin’,” she murmured, her voice rough from having just woken up.

Resting his chin on her head, he replied, “Mornin’.”

He was going to say something else – _sleep well,_ maybe – but she cut him off with a purred, “Have fun last night?”

She knew damn well he had. But that question reminded him of something he’d forgotten: his last (and most embarrassing) present. He’d kept intending to give it to her, but had also constantly gotten distracted. And as soon as she’d shown him her tattoo, all his plans had gone out the window. It lay forgotten under his mattress even now.

“Had myself a sexy as fuck ballerina last night,” he answered, still hesitating over that gift. Did he really dare to give it? He knew she’d love it, but he was having a hard time mustering up the courage to deliver it to her.

But he’d also put so much damn effort into it. Could he really just let all that go to waste?

Jocelyn chuckled against his neck, nuzzling him. “What a coincidence,” she hummed, “I had myself a sexy as fuck asshole last night.”

He snorted, amused despite himself. Then, fighting with his lingering insecurities, he started to withdraw. She whined as he extricated himself, so he consoled her with, “Chill. I, uh…I had another present for you. Forgot t’give it.”

Intrigued, she sat up, her hair resembling a freaking sun around her at this point. Raphael winced as he fought back laughs at the sight, knowing she wouldn’t let him get away with laughing at her massive curls.

Then, every motion hesitant, he retrieved a photo from under his mattress. Honestly, at this point he couldn’t even look at it; he could already feel his face heating from embarrassment. So, nonchalant as he could, he thrust the photo at her and looked away.

As soon as it left his fingers and she saw it, there was a strangled, barked laugh from her; she clamped her hand over her mouth to fight back against more. It made him wince, heart racing, as he braced himself for what came next.

Obviously struggling for control, she began, “O-okay, so, on a scale of one to ten, ‘zero’ expected this.” Then, clearing her throat, she added, “But holy fucking Jesus Christ, baby, ‘ten’ for appeal.”

That did _nothing_ to calm his heart. If anything, it sped up worse, though now he could at least look at her. She was smirking, he saw immediately, one brow arched as she examined the photo in her hands.

It was, very bluntly, his attempt at taking a sexy pic of himself. For her. The idea came to him after he found that digital camera – the one he’d used to take a couple snaps of _her_ last night – and he’d ended up taking dozens of pictures while he figured out how to use it. The timer, especially, had given him trouble, and as of yet he hadn’t found the ‘delete’ option so every single embarrassing photo remained in its memory.

This was the best one, in his opinion. He’d managed to set up the camera and timer, hop on the bed, and strike a pose he _thought_ would appeal to her. It’d clearly worked.

The image showed him on his side, propped up on an elbow, and totally nude. His bandana was covering his crotch, and though it’d been a little difficult, he’d managed an erection for the picture. It was…pretty obvious, if painful as hell for him to look at.

He’d so badly wanted to delete it and destroy all evidence of it, including the camera itself, but he’d consoled himself with the knowledge that Jocelyn would _love_ it. So he’d forced himself to stealthily print it out on some glossy paper while his family were all sleeping, though that, too, had taken a great deal of effort.

He’d never printed anything before and it’d taken him a long time to figure out how to do it. At least his efforts weren’t in vain.

She clearly liked it. He watched her bite her lip, then lift a seductive look to him. Flipping the image around – he refused to look, even now – she asked, “Be honest, how many tries did it take to nail this?”

The picture count on the camera was at 78, though the first 14 were from the previous owner. All of those photos were of a pit bull in a yard, clearly a happy and well-loved dog. He might’ve returned the camera, actually, except for the fact that it’d been in a trash heap. Most likely the owner had replaced it.

That made it his, now.

To answer her question, Raph coughed out, “A f-few.”

“A few?” she echoed, doubtful.

“…dozen,” he finished with a wince.

Smiling to herself, she nodded. “Well,” she said, shifting to her knees so she could lean on him, “the effort was well worth it. I love it.”

That made him feel _slightly_ better.

Grinning, she looked at the picture again – he glanced away, still way too embarrassed about the whole thing despite her approval – and commented, “I know _exactly_ where I’m gonna put it.”

Snapping his gaze back to her, he replied, “Oh, no. It’s not leavin’ this room.”

“What?” she blurted, sounding offended.

“It’s a risk,” he reminded her.

She pouted. Honest-to-god pouted. It wrought a grin from him. And then she sparked back to life, and the sudden devilish look on her face sent off alarm bells in his head.

“What?” he demanded.

Getting up, she crossed over to his table – god damn, that nightie made her legs look so _long_ – towards the camera sitting there, and it took him a moment to realize she could find all his failed pictures. He jumped up in a panic, snatching the camera from her hands when she picked it up.

For a split second she looked surprised, and then her gaze narrowed on him. “Oh, come on,” she whined, “give it.”

“No,” he grunted, once more contemplating crushing the camera to destroy the evidence within it.

“C’mon, baby,” she said, tugging on him as he turned from her.

It was hard to deny her, but his embarrassment over those photos left him no other option. “It’s mine, I can say ‘no’ if I wanna,” he shot back.

Pouting again, she said, “But I wanna take a picture, too.”

That gave him pause. “You do?” he checked, giving her a hesitant glance.

“Uh-huh.”

“What kinda picture?”

Grinning now, she sauntered back over to the bed, tossing off her little black nightie as she went. Then, laying out on his bed – mimicking the pose in his photo – she grabbed his bandana from the bedside table, draping it over her crotch.

And now he was amused as hell, grinning wide. “You’re crazy,” he told her.

Shrugging, she replied, “I’m just playing fair, baby.”

Unable to resist what she was offering him, he crouched down to be at the right height and took a picture of her. Then another, and another and another, making Jocelyn start to laugh as it dragged on. He took a dozen pictures before he was satisfied.

And he got several lovely shots of her laughing face, as well.

Then, when she asked to see the photos, he very intentionally selected them for her, never letting her see the full gallery.

The first image had her yelping in shock. “Why didn’t you tell me my hair was such a wreck?!” she demanded, reaching up to feel it for herself. She tugged and pulled at the curls, distressed.

Surprised by her reaction, he replied, “Because it’s sexy?”

Scowling, she snapped, “It’s not _sexy_ , it’s a huge damn mess.”

“A _hot_ mess,” he corrected.

She gave him an annoyed look. “That’s not a compliment, you know.”

Shrugging, he tried, “For you, it is.”

Narrowing her eyes, she gave him a measuring look. He got the impression he’d just gotten into trouble somehow, but he couldn’t quite figure out how. He’d clearly underestimated her feelings for her hair, that much was obvious.

The lighthearted moment was over. Jocelyn got up and headed over to the sink, every step harsh. She started intentionally drenching her hair, one handful of water at a time. He couldn’t help groaning at the sight, the image she made right then sexy as hell despite her obvious pique. Standing there in a thong, bent over a sink, water trailing down her face and neck, her tattoo partly visible as she worked on soaking her hair…

He quickly snapped another photo, the flash betraying him.

The glare she sent him then told him he probably shouldn’t have done that. But the flash had done her a service in the picture, making her dark skin look glossy and gorgeous. Besides which, the angle emphasized her killer ass. He loved it. And, he noticed, with her pose he couldn’t see her nipples, making it _almost_ a perfectly safe image to keep around. Sexy without being explicit.

She warned, “Delete that.”

He didn’t want to. “Why? It’s beautiful. _You’re_ beautiful,” he told her.

“Because I said,” she snapped.

Okay, she was obviously more upset than he’d realized and had crossed over into the realm of unreasonably angry. He set the camera aside, coming over to her. He meant to pull her into an embrace, help her calm down, but when he reached out she deflected his hands.

That…actually hurt, stunning him. She’d never just pushed him away like that, and it made his heart ache and his fears act up again.

This wasn’t permanent, he told himself. She was just upset and it would pass. They’d had arguments before; this was nothing new. But the _way_ she was upset was different from the other times and he wasn’t confident he could soothe it. This was new territory and the last thing he wanted was to step on a landmine.

So he did what he always did when the idea of speaking scared him: he ignored words in favor of touching.

He brought his hand to her neck, but he barely managed contact before she slapped it away. Insistent, he tried again, and this time she turned to him to shove at him. By now her work had succeeded in flattening her hair quite a bit, her curls finally under control, and adding the sexy look of it to her narrowed eyes and wet skin…

Jocelyn was _gorgeous_ , through and through. Her pique only served to make her even more attractive to him, because honestly, he loved that fire of hers. He wasn’t so thrilled with the fact that she was fighting _him_ , but damn if he didn’t love how she fought.

He ducked his head and kissed her; she shoved him again, but only ended up pushing _herself_ away.

“Cut it out, I’m not in the mood,” she snapped.

“Liar,” he chided.

She fought against a smile. Taking that as his cue, he caught her, lifted her up onto the sink, and kissed her again. Her actions then were conflicted: her hands pushed at him, but never right away; she let him kiss her for several seconds before turning her face away, only to have him pull her back around for another; her legs merely rubbed against his, hooking around him to keep him close.

 _Poor girl,_ he thought. Wanting so bad to stay mad at him but losing the battle. Knowing she just couldn’t resist him wrought a little, pleased smirk from him. When he gave her his tongue, she gave a sexy but annoyed grunt, even as she matched his thrust with her own.

He’d won.

Shoving back from him, she hissed, “Motherfucker…”

“Sorry,” he answered as he dove back in; she growled at him. _So hot_. “M’sorry,” he muttered between kisses, never drawing back for longer than it took to speak.

“Sorry I upset you.”

Her hands bit into his neck, squeezing hard; he shivered.

“Sorry.”

She whined into his mouth, starting to melt.

“M’sorry, Jocelyn.”

“Raphael…” she breathed.

“Sorry.”

She sucked in a breath, then hissed, “Fuck you.”

He couldn’t help a smirk at that, replying playfully, “Promise?”

She shoved him again, much harder than before; it actually forced his shoulders back an inch. So he shoved her back with a hand on her chest, a little nudge by comparison to hers.

With a shocked gasp she hit the mirror just hard enough to crack it, despite the mere inch or two between her and the object. Though Raphael immediately froze, worried he might’ve injured her, Jocelyn just pinned him with a smoldering look. Then she surged up, dug her nails into his shoulders and kissed him hard.

Son of a _bitch_.

He couldn’t help looking over her shoulder as she started devouring his mouth, checking for blood or wounds. Nothing, thank god. His guilt eased, but threads lingered behind, warning him to not try that again.

And then Jocelyn bit his lip, tugging on it, and lust swept away all other thoughts. A dozen green eyes darkened in that reflective surface, glaring back at him. Even in the midst of all this passion, that gaze seemed to say, _Look what you did, you fuckin’ brute.  
_

He pulled away, forcing a separation by keeping a hand against her chest. “Alright, enough’a that,” he declared.

Jocelyn blinked in shock, then blurted, “Seriously? You gonna do me like that?”

He couldn’t smother a smirk at that. “Yep,” he agreed.

Narrowing her eyes, she warned, “Gonna punish you for this.”

That was the _opposite_ of a deterrent. He just grinned at her, shameless. But, in truth, they really shouldn’t linger any longer. Jocelyn had had to _fight_ to get her mother to let her stay the night here, and only with the stipulation that she come back home in the morning. Cecilia wanted to spend every Christmas with her daughter, and in the end neither of the lovers could deny her that.

For the sake of fixing his little misstep, Raph helped Jocelyn deal with her hair as much as he could – which, to be honest, wasn’t much. She handled almost everything with her skilled fingers; all he really did was hold onto locks for her while she worked. With the mirror now bearing a huge shatter in the center she couldn’t use that, so when she started putting braids in her hair, he was her eyes.

In the end she put dual braids on either side, right above her ears, merging them together at the back of her head. It looked so good, it left him dumbfounded. Then, dressing in a pair of black jeans and a sweater she’d already had here, they finally left to join his family for breakfast.

* * *

The New Year followed much the same events as Christmas: Jocelyn visited the guys (though April and Casey opted to have a private holiday), Mikey made more sweets, a movie marathon played in the background, and everyone had a great time.

…For a while.

Thanks to the New Year being a breeding ground for drunken crimes, the brothers only celebrated for a little while. Then they went out on patrols, having to leave Jocelyn behind.

Raph was less than pleased with this, but duty calls. And, as luck would have it, they had to deal with a scheme by Stockman that night. It was bad enough that Mikey and Leo now bore a new scar each, but compared to their other battles it’d been _pitiful_. It was over in a few hours’ time with only one quick satellite scan by Donny.

 _Not_ Stockman’s best work.

Then came [**Valentine’s Day**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17195702/chapters/40432748), and Raphael set up a nice little date with his lover. Spoiler: it turned out _fantastically_. And it was far from their second; he’d started coming up with all sorts of fun ideas for dates. Nearly every week they had another, and Jocelyn’s expression every time he asked her out always made the work worth it.

She _loved_ going on dates with him, he’d found. And, to his mingled chagrin and delight, something sexual happened nearly every night. It’d come close to ruining the night a few times, too; the damn vixen made it such a struggle to keep to his plans sometimes.

He found himself loving her more for it. She gave him such a hard time, but the rewards were _so_ worth it.

They’d also started a kind of war with his camera. At some point Jocelyn got a hold of it while he wasn’t there (despite the fact that he’d hidden it), found his (extremely embarrassing) photos in the gallery, and set about recreating each one. She hadn’t told him she’d done it, either, turning it into a massive surprise for him. Not only that, but she’d added several of herself in _new_ poses, and the mischievous part of him couldn’t resist playing her game.

He’d recreated _her_ poses (sometimes covering his face because Jesus, those _poses_ ), then added a few of his own. He put it right back in its hiding spot, and sure enough, the next time he checked it, she’d continued the game. Eventually they stopped sneakily doing this and started taking photos _together_ instead, though it quickly ate up the memory in the camera. Jocelyn figured out how to delete pictures, and with a measure of played-up sorrow from the both of them, they started deleting the ones they liked least.

He printed out a few of them – all of her, of course; he wasn’t about to have another photo of himself in existence, and certainly not in _those_ poses – and sent a few to his phone, as well. He sent just one to Jocelyn: the one of her bent over his sink, wetting her hair. He did it to prove a point, show her how damn sexy she was, how she didn’t so much as have to try for it.

Her response? _Okay, okay…maybe it’s a good picture and I like that you took it. Maybe._

Victory.

Then came their one-year anniversary, and he pulled out _all_ the stops for that one. Jocelyn cried for him that night, so moved by his work she didn’t even demand sex. She just kept cuddled up to him all night, humming her love for him and approval of his date. Honestly, Raphael had never felt more accomplished, more appreciated, or more loved than that night.

When May rolled around, he got the best idea for another date: a recreation of their first. He had to shift around the days a bit and a different ballet was playing – _Firebird_ – but by some miracle he found it was starring Misty Copeland.

Again.

Jocelyn just about _screamed_ when she realized they were going back to the Opera House to watch _Firebird_ with Misty as the lead. _Again_. Following that was, of course, Mr. Ken’s sushi place, and finally climbing back up to the top of that 30-story building. That same fair was set up in the distance, making the night a truly remarkable repeat.

The only difference was that, this time, he never said “no”. Everything she wanted was hers.

Oh, and he didn’t keep her out all night. But, per her wishes, he also couldn’t leave her, so he ended up staying the night at her apartment again. She fell asleep on his chest while he played with her hair.

It was fantastic.

It also coincided with her graduation. They’d talked about her future quite a few times over the school year, and she ultimately concluded that she didn’t _need_ to go to Paris. New York had some great ballet schools, too. She’d already sent in applications before her school year was even over.

No replies yet, but they both remained hopeful.

It was around this same time, however, that he started noticing how often Jocelyn and April hung out together. He stopped by April’s apartment at one point to find Jocelyn was _there_ , and the two abruptly ended their conversation when he hopped in through the window. Suspicious but technically only here because April had picked up an item for him, he’d exchanged cash for the object, had a brief conversation with his lover, then left.

But that had opened the door for his mind to start concocting theories, and he’d immediately gone home to inform his bros that something was afoot. Obviously it was something the ladies weren’t ready to share, something still in the “discussion” phase, so the turtles tried to remain somewhat respectful. They didn’t follow the girls or dig into things; they just listened a little more closely when April or Jocelyn visited, theorized amongst themselves, and tried to prepare for the unexpected.

…They were still surprised by what ultimately came their way.


	46. First Ever...

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing)

* * *

* * *

* * *

It was Saturday, June 2nd, when the brothers were asked by Splinter to come help him do some patrolling. It’d been a long time since their father had done so – months, in fact – and the near date to their birth-slash-hatchday made the lot of them suspicious.

Raphael, in particular, knew this couldn’t be a coincidence. Not only were they patrolling with their father, who was conveniently refusing to allow them to separate or try to lead, but Jocelyn had been too busy to visit him for the last _week_. Her explanation was that her school was going to do a last play before she and a bunch of other 18-year-olds had to leave (it was a beginning-intermediate school, not ‘advanced’, so it was time for her to move on). 

He knew that was bullshit because he’d checked; she was still going to classes but they had no “final play” in the works. She was definitely hiding something from him.

So was their father – and April, they’d noted. The three of them were definitely in cahoots, and by now the brothers were almost _positive_ it was some kind of birthday surprise or party. The only question now was where it was going to happen.

Logically, Splinter could very well have taken them out of the Lair so Jocelyn, April, and maybe Casey and even Vern could set up some things. Leo believed it, but Donny had doubts; he thought they were out because they were going to some other location. It made more sense – why would the guys leave the Lair now to give the others a mere few hours to set up a party when they could, instead, be heading to a separate location where everything was already prepared?

Leonardo didn’t like that theory for the risk it represented. What if they got discovered? What if some pedestrian noticed and took photos and they didn’t notice? What if the Foot caught wind of the party and crashed it? It was too insecure, too _vulnerable_ , for the eldest. It made more sense to him that Splinter, in particular, wouldn’t allow that kind of a risk.

Mikey, on the other hand, was _super_ excited. To be frank, the brothers had never really had a birthday _party_ before; April had helped them to celebrate since coming into their lives (for, technically, the second time), but those had all been small events. She provided store-bought cakes, gifts were exchanged, laughter was had, and in the end nothing really notable occurred.

If there was an actual _party_ this time, the youngest brother was going to _scream_ , Raph just knew it.

Getting to socialize, _really_ socialize, was an endless goal for Mikey. Raph, Donny and Leo were much more calm and content with things, but Mikey? He was the dreamer, the yearn-er, the lament-er. For him, this was about to be either a monumental disappointment or a dream come true.

For a little while, everything proceeded as normal: they went out after dark and started looking for crimes to thwart, and their father watched them close as they did as if he were judging their skill out in the open world. It felt very _normal_.

Then, to absolutely no one’s surprise, Splinter decided to take a break (quote-unquote). He climbed to the top of a fairly tall building – ten stories, at a glance – and took a seat, overlooking the city. Barely an hour had passed since they left the Lair, the sky not quite totally dark yet. It was barely after nine now, the summer sky fighting to stay lit for as long as it could, but in the city of skyscrapers shadows were a constant; despite their relatively early breach to the surface, they’d remained well-hidden the entire time.

Having a summer birthday kind of sucked for the brothers, considering they were forced into the role of nocturnal creatures. If there _was_ a party for them to get to, they wouldn’t get much time there.

Now, as the brothers flanked their father, Splinter commented, “A tremendous sight, is it not?”

Raph thought so. He loved everything about this city – well, minus its crime rate. He loved the tight-knit buildings, the random lit windows, the constant activity and noise, how easy it was to catch music or movies in the air, the scents, the _people_ …New York was perfect for him.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

He especially loved his girlfriend, a woman he’d started thinking of as the epitome of “New York”: she was a crazy mix of genes, smart and sarcastic, elegant and sexy, mature and cute in turn. The city and his lover were intrinsically connected to him by now; he wouldn’t trade either of them for anything.

…Well, no, he’d definitely trade the city for her. But _aside_ from that, he wouldn’t trade them for anything.

Mikey chose then to take a seat beside Splinter, nodding to himself. He said, “It’s nice having you up here with us, Dad. You don’t get out enough.”

Splinter chuckled, replying, “I’m inclined to agree. It’s been far too long.” Then, more humorously, he added, “I need to stretch these old bones every so often, keep myself from growing crotchety.”

That comment drew in the remaining brothers: Raph clapped a hand on Splinter’s shoulder; Leo took a seat on his other side; Donny gave his opposite shoulder a few pats.

Smiling, Splinter said, “Ah, my sons…you make an old rat very happy.”

The brothers shared smiles and grins then, and Mikey leaned over to give Splinter a playful bump.

“Oh,” their father added suddenly, as if he’d forgotten something. Looking left and right to give them each a glance, he finished, “And happy hatchday.”

Raphael snorted while Mikey chortled; Donny and Leo gave pleased smiles.

“So,” Raph pressed, “where’s your presents for us?”

“In my other pants pocket,” Splinter deadpanned.

Mikey snickered, then complained, “Aww, you couldn’t’ve given us our gifts earlier?”

“Patience,” Splinter told him, rising to his feet, “is its own gift.”

Mikey’s expression blanked to one of annoyance. Raph nudged him; Splinter just chuckled again.

“Now,” the rat began, stretching his arms and back, “I am certain by now you’re all aware what is happening, so allow me to do away with formalities.”

At once, the brothers were _riveted_ , eyes on Splinter and hanging on his every word.

“Go ahead, Dad,” Leo prompted, outwardly calm but inwardly as excited as the rest of them to find out what this big surprise was.

“Come along,” Splinter told them, starting off in a sprint; he jumped to the next building over, a much taller building, and began climbing. The turtles followed, aiding each other as they went.

Despite their teamwork and much younger bodies, Splinter _still_ managed to beat them. But, really, was that a surprise? Rats were natural climbers.

Turtles were natural _oh god I’m so slow I’ll never outrun this predator, better hide in my shell_ s.

As they neared the top, they learned their destination: half the building ended at the 20th story while the rest climbed a few higher, and that lower section had an enclosed roof, glass walls on all sides. It was lit up, obviously containing occupants, and Splinter was headed right for it.

As Raphael reached the top – the second-last to do so, Donny bringing up the rear – he was so surprised by what he saw that he paused in place for a few moments before hauling himself through the wide, open window.

The room was _very_ aesthetically-pleasing, with a pair of long tables off to one side, a stout platform on another, and a legit DJ booth beside it. Four smaller, round tables were up against one wall, chairs – and, notably, four stools – lined up with them. The whole room itself was easily fourty-by-twenty, a whole section just wide open.

And there were, indeed, occupants here: aside from April, Casey and Jocelyn, he saw Cassie, Vern (who was looking, shall we say, uncomfortable), several police officers – Raph recognized two of them from their Key to the City ceremony a few years prior – and, specifically, four teenage girls Raph had never seen before.

Those four girls communally gasped and recoiled when the mutant family made their appearance, but their reactions seemed _surprised_ rather than _shocked_.

Like they’d known what they were getting into but hadn’t quite believed it until now.

Leo was _immediately_ concerned, however, giving April and Jo a scalding, disapproving look.

April explained, “NDAs.”

Raph had no idea what that meant. Leo and Donny nodded, accepting that, but Mikey spoke up, asking, “What’s that mean?”

“Non-disclosure agreement,” Donny told him.

“It means,” Jocelyn said, “no one can say anything or they go to prison.”

Which meant those new girls had been brought in under _contract_ – which also meant they weren’t random party-goers. Their presence here had a purpose, though what that was Raph still didn’t know.

Aside from the girls being stuck in stunned paralysis, things proceeded as expected of a party: the guys were greeted by name, given welcomes and hugs and congratulations, and Jocelyn jumped right into Raphael’s arms and kissed him.

Somewhere behind her, the girls gasped again; Cassie commented dryly, “I told you she was serious.”

And, god almighty, [**Jocelyn looked _fantastic_**](https://78.media.tumblr.com/4c7b1000458d320ab227aa0899f99b99/tumblr_p2j2mvyuEz1wtuqpio9_r1_1280.png). A red halter top that left her tattoo visible, a black skirt with little vertical zippers at the hem, sexy fingerless gloves with _hearts_ cut out of them, fishnet stockings, and high heels that could’ve killed a man? 

She might as well have declared her status as the goddess of sex appeal and demanded he get down on his knees to worship her. He may very well have done it.

Add to that her breathtaking makeup and the red streaks she kept re-applying to her hair whenever an inch grew in and his thoughts halted, seizing on one:

As soon as he could, he was taking her to their second Lair and making love to her all night long.

First, though…they had a party to crash. And Raphael couldn’t help wondering why those other girls were here. They were visually so different – one taller than Jocelyn and darker-skinned by a hefty amount; one significantly shorter and lighter-skinned; the last two were clearly white, but one was dressed like a skater and the other like a preppy teen. Just by looking he couldn’t even hazard a guess as to their purpose, their appearances too varied to suggest anything solid.

Socializing, maybe? Or was she trying to set up his brothers? If that was the case, why bring four strangers and Cassie to the party? He only had three brothers…

Expecting the answer to be delivered eventually, he let it lay for now. And Jocelyn made introductions, confirming that she knew **[all those girls](https://78.media.tumblr.com/cf60fe6c758df3843e992a98b0d90009/tumblr_inline_p6on8ujSFQ1rw66wa_1280.png)**.

The _notably_ tall black girl was Deidre, the shorter tanned girl was Rosa, the skater girl was [**Lisa**](https://78.media.tumblr.com/1403b416b892979b7f36ef986886fefa/tumblr_p6qv47KGnW1wtuqpio1_1280.png) and the preppy blonde girl was Jessica.

And they were all pretty damn attractive, he saw. Jessica, in particular, was _gorgeous_ ; enough so that Raph turned a glance to Mikey, checking on how his brother was holding up.

Mikey was…tense. Like he was doing his best to keep still and silent. But he was obviously excited, practically had stars glittering in his eyes. Donny and Leo, by comparison, were passive; they gave respectful greetings and nothing more. Meanwhile, Mikey tried to do handshakes.

Raph and Leo clamped hands on the youngest to keep him in place. He glowered at his brothers.

“So,” April began with a clap of her hands, “who’s ready for some fun?”

“Me!” Mikey declared, thrusting an arm in the air.

April smiled at him, always so pleased with his antics.

Jocelyn turned to Lisa, then, saying, “How about some tunes?”

Lisa snapped fingers with both hands, did finger guns, and headed to the DJ booth. Well, Raph thought, now he knew why _she_ was here. As she started up the equipment – he legitimately had no idea what she was doing over there – and music filtered in from the stereos located in each corner, the rest of the females slowly approached and socializing began.

Deidre was immediately side-eying Donny, straightening her back as if comparing their heights. With her high heels she dwarfed everyone else (who wasn’t a mutant turtle), even getting an inch or two on Mikey.

Rosa, on the other hand, proved to be tiny but _fiery_. She barely came up to Mikey’s shoulder but spoke – with a Hispanic accent, Raph noticed – like she was ten feet tall. She was spunky as hell, talking back and making sarcastic quips.

Jessica, meanwhile, was more calm and flirty; similar to Jocelyn but not half as sexy, Raph concluded. And, to Mikey’s utter disappointment, it turned out she had a boyfriend. She wore a necklace with a key for a pendant that he’d given her.

So _she_ , at least, wasn’t here for couple setups. As the party continued, Raphael grew steadily more suspicious about what was to come. He kept looking at the stage, in particular – Mikey, on the other hand, grew more anxious about the table laden with presents.

And the girls ended up splitting just a bit. Rosa and Deidre both found Donny to be a good conversationalist, apparently, because they stuck near him. Cassie and Jessica ended up side-by-side, conversing with Leo. And Mikey had been hanging out with Lisa since he came over to the DJ booth and started asking questions about it. She even let him push buttons every so often.

Unsurprisingly, Jocelyn remained in arm’s reach of Raph – both because she didn’t wander much and because he followed her when she did.

April, on the other hand, went between the brothers and Splinter every so often. For the most part she was being a good sister and gracious host, checking to make sure all her guests were comfortable. Her boyfriend, Casey, chatted with the guys and occasionally came over to April to steal her attention. In many ways, Casey and Raph were identical in the way they were around their girlfriends. It was amusing to the turtle.

The officers here were clearly on duty, wearing their uniforms, but they threw in some comments and jokes every so often, too. Everything felt…good. Relaxed but intriguing, pleased but suspicious, hyped but patient.

Then Deidre broke off from the pack, approached the stage, took the microphone out of the stand, and faced the room. Lisa lowered the volume of the music down to a quite hum.

All but purring, Deidre began, “If I could have everyone’s attention?” As they all turned to look at her, she went on, “We’ve all heard countless stories about the shadows protecting us civilians. Crazy, unbelievable things, feats no human could possibly achieve. And it was you, all along,” she said, glancing between each of the brothers.

“We can’t begin to express our gratitude,” she was saying, “for all you’ve done. The sacrifices you’ve given, the loneliness you’ve suffered. But if you’ll let us, we’d like to show you some true appreciation. So, come closer,” she waved; they did so, though Raph gave Jocelyn a suspicious look first. She just gestured him forward. When the guys were lined up before the stage, Deidre continued.

“Take a seat,” she directed; the guys noticed all at once that Jocelyn, Cassie, Jessica and Rosa had placed stools behind them. The ladies gestured them to sit – Jocelyn did so with a wink, running her hands down Raph’s arms in a silent lead.

“…And enjoy the show,” Deidre finished once they were seated, then replaced the microphone – only to lay it down, out of the way.

All five women took the stage, coming to stand in a line: Cassie, Jocelyn, Deidre, Jessica, and Rosa. Other than Rosa taking off her extra-long vest, tossing it off to the side, the girls just waited.

As the brothers shared curious, expectant looks, Lisa set up a new song. Raph didn’t recognize it, but he _immediately_ liked it. When Jocelyn took that stage, he knew at once that they were about to be treated to some kind of performance, most likely a dance.

He was right.

At first their moves were slow, the girls dancing in spins and pivots to fit the speed of the song – and then it kicked up, the dancers leaping forward in energy to match it.

[ _In the end, the choice was clear_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O8yo7l43Yoo)   
[ _Take a shot in the face of fear_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O8yo7l43Yoo)   
[ _Fists up in the fiery light_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O8yo7l43Yoo)   
[ _Times are changing_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O8yo7l43Yoo)

It was a great performance, to be honest. The second “times are changing” line was also sang by the girls as they crouched together, only to shove back from each other (ending in what was clearly their dance positions) in a leap that met the beat way too well. It was cool.

They were in perfect sync, their moves seeing to flow from one individual to another. The teamwork was fantastic, and it honestly made Raph wonder if this was kind of what he and his brothers looked like to others: the harmony, the fluid motions, the aiding one another.

A little past the midway point the song tapered off to a quiet repetition of, “Do you believe? Walk on water,” and Cassie paused then, looking exhausted, only to turn her gaze to Lisa on the opposite side of the stage. That drew Raph’s gaze, too, and he found Lisa was dancing in place, eyes closed, one hand on the pink headphones held to her ear.

Cassie pat Jocelyn’s arm for attention, gestured, and suddenly both women were calling Lisa’s name. That drew Deidre, Jessica and Rosa’s attention, and they started shouting, too, eclipsing the music.

Startled, Lisa looked up; the dancers gestured her over. While Lisa grinned, embarrassed, the rest began stamping their feet and clapping their hands in time with the beat, still yelling for her.

Finally Lisa gave in, gesturing wide in a you-wanna-do-this way. By now Raph was _certain_ this was part of the act, and Lisa proved it when she stepped back from the booth only to jump up, kick off it, and do a freaking scorpion backflip onto the stage.

Mikey _jumped_ up from his seat, cheering; Raph and Donny grabbed him to yank him back down into his stool.

As it turned out, Lisa wasn’t _just_ here for the tunes; she started break dancing while the rest of the dancers clapped for her to the beat, ending with a one-handstand. Then they all fell into step together but split into two rows, tallest in back and shortest in front, and played out the final thirty seconds in sync.

It was _beautiful_. Then again, Raphael wasn’t looking at anyone besides his lover, and when was she _not_ beautiful?

As the song ended and the women posed – those in back did a final leap forward, ending in crouches between those in the front row, while the women in front turned sideways and linked their hands behind their heads – the brothers gave them a round of applause. That dance had been aesthetically pleasing, graceful, and, yes, rather sexy.

Jocelyn’s skirt rode up _damn_ high in that crouch, her hair falling over her shoulders and back like a cape. It drew his gaze like a magnet.

There was a lull in the music and then another started – _this_ one, Raph recognized. It’d been everywhere for a hell of a long stretch.

Uptown Funk.

Lisa retired back to her booth as the rest got right back into formation, a whole new dance coming forth. It wasn’t until after this one that the show seemed to end, the girls wandering away from the stage amidst applause. They all went right for the drinks, understandably exhausted.

– all except Jocelyn, who came right for Raphael, bringing her knee up over his thigh to lean into him.

“Showin’ off?” he teased.

“Maybe,” she grinned, arms sliding around his neck. “Maybe I wanted to make my claim on you. Maybe,” she added in a purr, ducking her head towards his ear, “I saw the way you looked at me and couldn’t resist…”

He liked all three of those reasons. He brought her face around to give her a kiss, no longer nearly as shy about PDA as he once was.

“Mmm,” she hummed, pleased. “If this weren’t a public event, I’d be giving you a lap dance right about now.”

Good _god_ that was hot.

“Surprised yer not anyway,” he replied. “Thought you liked exhibitionism.”

“I do,” she agreed. “It’s hella tempting. But _you_ don’t, so…” She shrugged.

He loved her so damn much. She knew how he hated other people seeing her sexy body, so she resisted her own impulses for him. Regardless of how much she’d enjoy some of the naughty things she’d whispered in his ear, she chose his comfort over her entertainment.

That was love, he thought.

* * *

Raphael kept to Jocelyn’s side all _night_. Not that she minded; she liked having him that close, that…easy to tease. Sometimes she ran a finger along the skin under his shell, making him shiver and glare at her in warning. Sometimes she just took his hand and placed it on her hip, wanting his touch. And sometimes she gave a stretch or bend, feigning stiffness to give him glimpses of her body: her tattoo, her neck, her ass, her thighs.

It was a lot of fun, watching him go rigid, eyes locked on her. Besides, with these other females around she just couldn’t resist making sure they all knew Raphael was _hers_.

Yeah, she’d brought them here to provide some birthday entertainment, selecting girls she knew from school – ballet and otherwise – and were good dancers. But she’d also low-key been hoping someone would hit it off with one or more of the boys, that one of those brothers would leave here with a date.

So far she wasn’t seeing much in the way of romance, but she was patient. Sort of. Deidre talked to Donny a lot, seeming to like him; he was notably uncomfortable, keeping a healthy distance between them. And while Cassie definitely kept closest to Leo, neither of them were displaying any measure of interest. They just talked.

And Mikey kept going around from girl to girl, swapping any time he realized he was getting too close or invasive. That was smart, Jo thought; it gave the girls time to cool down – and gave him little lessons on what _not_ to do or say. And he was learning quickly, she thought. Every conversation he had seemed to go more smoothly than the last, getting nods and smiles from the girls.

Then April got everyone’s attention, her and Splinter declaring it was about time they brought out the cakes. Jocelyn had to abandon Raphael for that, since it was only fitting that she be the one to carry his to the table. Her, April, Casey and Splinter went into an adjacent room to retrieve them from a refrigerator, set up and light the candles, then brought them out singing _Happy Birthday_.

The brothers were _clearly_ embarrassed, grinning and shaking their heads – except, unsurprisingly, for Mikey, who was _elated_. He was bouncing in place as the cakes were bused over, each one a small rectangle with the guys’ names in their colors on top. Jocelyn had baked and decorated each one with some help from April…and a few youtube videos on cake decoration.

Between the two of them they’d managed to design different kinds of flowers for each cake, which is admittedly a very feminine thing but one they couldn’t resist adding.

It was a tiny joke – a little, familial tease.

For the sake of tradition, each cake bore a total of nineteen candles, and since candles came in colors, they went ahead and matched those, too. Each guys’ candles were swirls of white and his own signature shade.

Once the cakes were on one of the long tables and the song was over, the brothers all successfully blew out the candles in one breath. Maybe next year, Jocelyn mused, she’d get the prank candles that didn’t blow out.

As soon as his candles were out, Raphael grabbed Jocelyn, hauling her against him while she giggled with delight. Nipping her neck, he growled, “Yer corny as hell.”

“Hey,” she defended herself, “you asked for the full treatment, that’s what you’re getting.”

He groaned, shaking his head. “I regret everything,” he complained.

“Too late to take it back,” she teased.

Grunting, he gave her an amused look, showing he wasn’t quite as displeased with this as he was pretending.

Spinning out of his grasp, she pulled out one of his sai. Holding it up with one hand – something that’d been difficult for her just a few months prior – she suggested, “Cut the cake?”

Snorting, he took it back, sheathing it. “It’s a weapon, not a toy,” he told her.

By now his brothers had already cut their own cakes, and Jocelyn chuckled as she saw examples of their differing personalities in them. Donatello’s cake was cut perfectly into exact squares, six-by-nine. Leonardo’s was similar but bigger, a mere four-by-three. And Mikey notably had avoided cutting through his name as much as possible, leaving the center column of his much wider than the edges’.

She was almost expecting Raphael to not bother cutting his at all, but instead just take a fork to it. She knew he could finish it, at least. 

He ended up cutting his into _huge_ pieces in a two-by-three grid. She watched as he very specifically placed the pieces with his name on them – “Raph” and “ael” – on a plate and offered her the latter.

She couldn’t help snorting as she took it. “Oh, I’m the tail, am I?” she chuckled.

Shrugging, he offered, “Just thought it was your favorite part’a me.”

Her jaw fell open at that incredibly suggestive, verbal, _public_ comment. He just grinned at her, put a couple seats together off to the side, sat down, and patted the one next to him.

Oh, no. He was gonna tease her, she was gonna tease _him._ It was a matter of principle at this point. So she sauntered over and sat in his lap instead, leaning against him.

Arms wide, he complained, “I can’t eat like this, babe.” A lie; he totally could. But if he wanted to play…

Giving him a shrug, she pulled the fork from his plate, severed a section of the piece, and offered it. “I can help with that,” she teased.

Though she was obviously embarrassing him, she could see him debating behind his eyes. Uncertain what conclusion he would reach – whether he was going to boldly let her feed him or shove her into her own chair – she arched a brow and waited with bated breath.

He’d been getting a _hell_ of a lot less shy lately, feeding off her shameless attitude. But this was pushing it, she knew. It was cute, intimate, and sexy in turns. Would he let her do it? Did he dare?

After a few moments, he opened his mouth – challenging _her_ in return.

Pff, as if she _wouldn’t_.

She gave him the bite, and though he took it, that was clearly his limit. Uncomfortable now, he ushered her out of his lap, took back his fork, and proceeded to grumpily pout.

Snickering, she accepted this – though she couldn’t resist one last strike. Leaning towards him, she murmured, “Wanna return the favor, baby?”

He glowered at her.

Grinning, she relented, leaving the subject be. “So,” she began as she dug into the cake, “having fun so far?”

He side-eyed her then, nodding. “S’fun, yeah. Was this your idea, or April’s?”

“Joint effort,” she answered. “I asked her when your birthday was, since you never told me,” she hinted with a disapproving look. He smirked, amused. “Anyway,” she went on, “we got talking about birthday events. I was surprised you guys had never had a party before, like a legit party with home-made cakes and stuff, and she said that was really hard to set up so she’d never done it. So we got talking about it, and now…here we are,” she finished with a gesture at the room.

Nodding, he checked, “How’d you get this place secured?”

“April rented it for the night,” she told him. “We got the police involved to make sure it stays secure and safe and off-limits.”

Digesting that, he checked, “And the other girls?”

“Friends of mine,” she explained, grinning. “Jessica and Rosa are from my ballet class. Deidre and Lisa are friends from school. Lisa’s studying to become a DJ, so I figured hey, she could do music for us.”

Shaking his head now, he asked, “How’d you get ‘em t’agree to this?”

Shrugging, she said, “Careful questioning. Cassie and me worked on it together, leaving little hints and suggestions and stuff to see who _wouldn’t_ flip their shit. It took a while, but we narrowed it down to those four,” she added with a nod towards where the girls were sitting together.

“Then,” she went on more hesitantly, knowing he wouldn’t like this part, “we sorta…made promises. Got April and Casey involved, then chief Vincent for confirmation. Once they signed their NDAs, we told them what was going on and why they’d been included.”

As predicted, that soured Raphael’s mood a bit, but at least he didn’t start snapping. Instead, he warned, “Leo’s gonna be pissed when he finds out.”

“…Are _you_ pissed?” she ventured.

The fact that he didn’t outright answer that said _yes_.

She sighed. “Figured.”

He sighed, too. “You know I don’t like you taking risks like that.”

Shrugging a shoulder, she offered, “I don’t consider it much of a risk. I know those girls. I trust them,” she told him.

“…Hope that trust pans out,” he replied quietly.

“It will,” she promised, certain of it. Raphael let it drop then, and they finished their cake with more pointless conversations about trees and wood and grass.

As soon as cake was done, they got to the presents. Splinter, Jocelyn, April, Casey, Vern, and chief Vincent (who hadn’t been able to attend) had all gotten presents for each of the guys, with a few more from the police force in general. Cassie hadn’t really known what to get them, even after Jocelyn gave suggestions, so she and the other girls had just gotten a couple joint gifts of varying usefulness.

Jocelyn’s gift for her lover was twofold: a pair of the biggest boxing gloves she could find (which were still too small but _should_ be able to get altered easily enough), and big bolt of red cloth for whatever projects he might want to do.

April, on the other hand, got each of the brothers two pairs of pants. Legit pants. She’d known their sizes for years and most of the shorts they now owned were from her, and now she’d added to that. And, Jo admitted, the pants Raphael got left her _shaken_.

She could tell at a glance that the black jeans would hug the shit out of his thighs, and it sent her imagination spinning. She was about ready to demand he put them on right now, but she knew that’d just end with her getting aroused and jumping on him.

He was already sexy as hell; with those jeans on she was going to keel over.

Later into the night, disaster struck. Jocelyn had just been hanging out with her beau, alternating between retrieving things like drinks for them and sitting in his lap while they chatted about meaningless things, when raised voices reached them.

Deidre and Rosa were arguing, and for a moment Jocelyn watched, trying to decide if she needed to intervene.

It reached a head when Rosa started speaking in Spanish – her parents were Dominican and she’d been raised in a primarily Spanish-speaking household – and Deidre demanded to know what the smaller girl was saying.

To their credit, they were keeping their hands to themselves, if posturing. But then Deidre went a step too far and intentionally thrust her chest into the smaller girl’s face. Rosa snapped, shoving the black woman so hard Deidre was knocked over; a fight exploded. Deidre rushed Rosa and they collided in a mass of badly-coordinated swings.

 _“Hey!!”_ Jocelyn snapped, jumping up and sprinting to the scrapping girls.

Lisa got there first, trying to shove her way between them; the tussle slammed Deidre’s elbow into Lisa’s nose and she went down with a shriek, holding her nose as blood began easing between her fingers. Sobs rang out from the injured girl and suddenly everyone was involved.

Cassie pulled Lisa back as Mikey reached them, helping her to a seat; Jocelyn got her arms around Rosa and hefted her back; Donny got an arm in front of Deidre, blocking her without having to grab her. Shouts continued to ring out, both angry yelling and calls for peace.

Keeping Rosa firmly in her grasp, Jocelyn tried to break through to them, snapping, “What’d I tell you?! What’d I tell you?! Deidre – enough!!”

Crouched in front of Lisa’s seat, Mikey was cooing, “It’s alright, you’re okay, you’re okay, c’mon Lisa, you’re okay.” Cassie was rushing to the pile of napkins, grabbing a stack of them.

All the while Leo and Raph slowly approached, their demeanor alone bringing in a sharp atmosphere of warning. Anyone with the most mild of awareness would have caught on and stopped what they were doing, yet…

Deidre and Rosa kept screaming at each other the entire time, finally halting only when a pair of officers physically got between them with warnings that they _will_ be jailed for twenty-four hours if they couldn’t settle down.

Rosa shoved out of Jo’s arms, huffing and muttering in Spanish, before trying to stride off. Jo caught her by the wrist with an admittedly too-tight grip, too pissed off by what had happened to be more gentle. Though Rosa gave her a warning glare, Jo was unfazed by that; she’d fight Rosa if she had to.

“You, and you,” she directed with harsh glares at the two women, “the both of you apologize to Lisa _right now_. Your fucking fight got her hurt.”

That surprised the two of them, sending glances at the crying DJ. By now Lisa was holding clumps of napkins to her nose, face wet from tears, with Mikey rubbing her back and Cassie standing beside her at attention. Lisa’s hands were bloodstained.

Rosa deflated, shoulders slumping; Deidre hugged herself, looking away. Both muttered apologies.

Scowling, voice hard, Jocelyn hissed, “I said _apologize_.”

Wincing, Rosa ventured, “Sorry about this, Lisa…”

A little more quietly, Deidre ventured, “Sorry, Lisa…um, are you okay?” She rubbed her elbow, seeming to finally realize it was _her_ blow that had hurt the other girl.

Steadily calming, Lisa nodded, blew some blood from her nose, and answered, “Yeah, I’ll be okay…but what _was_ that?” Looking between the two women, she clearly needed an answer.

Moments passed in tense, regretful silence, and Jocelyn came to the conclusion the fight was over some ridiculously stupid thing. Something not worth the fight, something they were both too embarrassed to recount.

Sighing, Jo let it go. She said, “You were given rules about this party. The both of you just broke ‘em’.”

Wincing, ashamed, the girls looked at her, hesitant.

April interjected, “…Technically, rule one was: break any rule, you leave. You two want that?”

“No,” Rosa muttered.

Deidre shook her head.

“Then let’s do a poll,” April suggested, looking to the brothers. “Since this party was for you four…show of hands. Who wants them to leave?”

Mikey _looked_ like he wanted to lift his hand, but when he gave Lisa a glance to silently ask her opinion, she shook her head; his gaze hit the floor. Leo and Raph both folded their arms, disapproving but not willing to kick them out yet. And Donny just offered a loose shrug, saying, “I’m sure they learned their lesson.”

Rosa gave a relieved sigh.

“…Lucky for you,” April told the girls, “they’re forgiving.”

Nodding, Deidre gave the brothers a smile in turn, saying, “Thanks. It…it won’t happen again.”

“ _Lo prometo_ ,” Rosa agreed.

“Lo prah-mee-toh?” Jo checked, butchering the pronunciation.

“I promise,” Rosa clarified.

They’d better hold to that. Jo wasn’t going to stand another scuffle. This was a damn birthday party, the first _real_ celebration the brothers had ever received. She and April wanted it to be perfect, and while that couldn’t be accomplished now, the two women shared a sharp glance, agreeing that nothing else would be happening tonight.

They’d make sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Here is where the sister-fic The DJ begins, featuring Mikey.


	47. Yes, Yes, A Thousand Times, Yes!

**Rating:** X (swearing/sexual content)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Well, this was a fantastic turn-out. Mikey was walking Lisa home! They'd hit it off so well, Jocelyn felt great for having played a part in their meeting. And when Lisa headed out and Mikey hopped out the window to join her, Jo turned a pleased grin to Raphael. She came over and straddled him again, humming along with the song playing in the background. 

“You look happy,” he observed. 

Damn right, she was. “Uh-huh,” she agreed. “Go on, tell me you aren’t, too.” 

He shrugged. “Happy…and a little worried,” he admitted. 

Running her fingers across the edges of his plastron, she checked, “Worried Lisa might hurt Mikey?” 

He nodded. “You know his heart. If he gets too invested an’ Lisa turns ‘im down…” 

…Mikey would be devastated. Jo nodded and sighed, thinking of this, too. “But,” she started, more chipper, “I don’t think that’ll happen.”

Her lover chuckled. “Ya think so, huh?” When she hummed a ‘yes’, he asked, “What makes ya so sure?” 

Grinning, she replied, “Woman’s intuition. Lisa’s a good girl. Mikey’s a good boy. I think they’ll work out.” 

They were something of an unsurprising surprise match. Jo had invited Lisa here because she was a great DJ and had an ear for music. The fact that she was also a great dancer (if limited to the style of hip hop) and had arrived via rollerblading were just a few more points in the ‘shared interests’ category with Mikey. 

While he was doing tricks on his board, she was dance-skating around plastic cups to the music. As Jo had watched them, she’d smiled. They had hit it off, just like Jo had been hoping. 

They had a great deal in common, Jo thought. Music preference, video game interest, colors and style, physical activities… More than this, however, Lisa meshed with the exuberant Michelangelo, and seemed to enjoy his constant quips – no matter how ridiculous they might be. It made Jo feel good to have introduced them and gave her some hope for their future. 

Maybe nothing would come of this. Maybe Lisa didn’t see Mikey like that, and maybe Mikey wouldn’t see her like that, either. But there was a chance…and that chance was more precious than gold. 

Even the scuffle earlier between Deidre and Rosa seemed to have worked in their favor; Lisa getting a bloody nose from an errant elbow had resulted in Mikey caring for her, helping her recover. For a few minutes she’d cried from the pain and he’d done everything in his power to soothe her. 

Just a few minutes later they were goofing off together, all that forgotten. 

It gave Jo some hope, because, honestly…she liked Mikey. She could see so much affection in him, so much love – he just needed a recipient for it, someone to give it to. And though Jo didn’t know Lisa very well (they’d been friends for over a year but didn’t talk or hang out much), she thought, just maybe…maybe Lisa would be willing to take it. 

She hoped so. After all, Jo had the distinct impression that where Mikey so badly wanted to shower someone with affection, Lisa wanted to _receive_ it. If Jocelyn was right, then the future was bright for the both of them. 

Her main goal with this party had succeeded – the brothers had clearly enjoyed themselves. But the secondary goal had also seemed to have been achieved, and honestly, Jo was happier about that than anything else. 

Now all that remained was to give her lover the best night of his life. 

She leaned in, giving him sweet kisses on the neck. She felt vibrations against her lips as he growled low, a hand lifting to brush her hair back and trail his fingers along her neck and shoulders. 

She murmured, “Bet we could sneak outta here.” 

He gave her a dark look, pulling up her chin to meet her gaze. “Yer gonna kill me someday,” he told her. 

“Or die tryin’,” she agreed. 

He smirked, then checked, “D’ya need ta get anything?” 

She shook her head. “Brought nothin’ but the clothes on my back,” she hinted. Which, she admitted, was an ironic statement, considering her shirt didn’t _have_ a ‘back’. It barely had threads around the waist to keep it in place. 

Raphael grinned at her, then glanced around the room, noting where everyone was. Guiding her off him, he led her by the hand to a window, silently slid it open, then hauled her into his arms. Of course they didn’t get out unnoticed – he probably was unaware, but as he jumped out with her, she caught both Splinter and Donny looking their way. 

She winked. 

By now they’d done this kind of free-falling enough times that it didn’t scare her anymore. In fact it barely gave her a rush; she had absolute faith in her lover and his ability to keep them both safe. All she had to do was keep her grip secure and there was no way she’d end up hurt. Besides, this was only twenty stories. 

They’d plummeted from twice that height before. 

“So,” she began once they were hopping across rooftops – her heels made it a little more difficult, but luckily she was trained to land on her toes, and besides which her lover was always there to catch her, “where we headed? My place?” 

He grinned as he caught her again, but this time he didn’t let her go, just holding her against him. “Second Lair’s finally ready,” he told her. 

Oh, _snap_. 

* * *

Their second Lair – which she’d visited a few times before – was an old, long-abandoned underground Subway station. The entrances were all boarded up, the two subway tunnels even bricked closed, the only way in or out being a hole above one of the main stairwells; the station below was a dual side-platform setup with a duo of tracks in the center. The guys had set up a ladder and hatch there some time ago, complete with locks. 

Donny was working on getting a thumbprint scanner installed on it, but the damn thing kept glitching out. Not steady enough electricity, he said. Until then, it just had a simple dial lock. 

Well – “simple” was understating it. Donny had designed and cut the pieces for the lock, coming out with a 12-digit code. Never let it be said that he could avoid _not_ overdoing things, Jo thought. 

This Lair was huge, though not nearly as open as the previous. It was more a cottage than anything, a summer home of sorts. Six subway cars sat on the tracks still, four on one and two on the other, and the guys had pulled the seats and bars out of all but one. They’d turned those into bedrooms – one for each of them and Splinter – with nearly every single window in each car darkened or blocked off. 

The sixth car was Donny’s newest lab-slash-security terminal. It was a very Do Not Enter type of area, with cords stapled into the walls and ceiling and every available surface (some of which he’d installed) covered in electronics and science equipment. He didn’t have a specific rule to stay out of it, but they all knew not to go in there unless they had to. 

One wrong move and you’re getting electrocuted. 

Each of the cars had also been tested for asbestos as well, then scrubbed clean when they were found to contain it, as well as the whole terminal getting cleaned and fumigated for sanitation purposes. Once all the readings came up clear, the remodeling had begun, starting with removing all the built-up debris and dust. 

After some months of work, they’d finished with that and started filling it. They’d brought nothing from their main home except that which was not being used; everything else had been found, sanitized as needed, and organized. 

The rest of the open area was just like a huge living room. There were no training or special recreational areas; it was built for comfort, relaxation, and screamed ‘family’. A bridge had been built of bricks on one side of the cars for easy transit. Most of the seating they’d pulled out of the cars had been altered, welded together, and positioned into large half-circle couches with tables at their centers. Several television sets were dotted around the place, some with video game consoles attached or DVD players. 

Add to that some rebuilt arcade games and pinball machines, three refrigerators, at least a dozen stereos, and an entire area cordoned off with rails for physical contests and it was _really_ freaking cool. Strings of lights hugged the edges of the ceiling, with a few hanging lamps and strings of bulbs spanning the width of the terminal, adding an incredible aesthetic to it. 

The first thing the guys had done was get ventilation set up, then electricity and water, meaning this place was now fully modernized. A small section had been walled off with a door, containing a toilet, sink and single shower, and right next to it – on the rails – was a large freaking Jacuzzi they’d built. It was big enough to fit all the huge guys at once, spanning the width of the tracks, practically more of a pool than a hot tub. How they’d managed that, she had no idea, but it must have been done in small pieces. 

This was her first time being back since a lot of changes had been made, so she was seeing a lot of new things. The lighting was mostly new, and she saw they’d added some curtains here and there to act as vague walls between areas, especially around the cars. 

She could see their differing perspectives everywhere she looked – that cabinet was definitely Leo’s idea, and those back-to-back arcades were Donny’s – and it’d resulted in a gorgeous setup. She even spotted a kind of countertop-slash-bar and just knew it’d been Mikey’s doing. 

“Wow,” she approved. “This is just about the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.” 

Smiling, pleased, Raphael led her down the steps, still holding her hand. “Wait till ya see my room,” he hinted. 

She was _so_ ready for that. “Surprise me, baby,” she purred. 

Grinning, he swept her up into his arms – he _loved_ doing that, the ham – and headed to his car. Unsurprisingly, it was easy to tell his apart from the others. The doors had been painted to read _ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK_ in red, with clearly red curtains and such covering the windows from the inside. 

The rest of the cars had similar setups: Leo had a “do not enter” sign by his doors, Mikey had written “Good Vibes” on his, Donny’s had some kind of [**equation**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi.stack.imgur.com%2FxNpQZ.png&t=NWE4MGZlZDhjNTNiMGJjZDJlYmYxYjdhMmI5YjI5MmU1MmU1ZTI1ZSx3aWdYNzI2bw%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172785699244%2Fthe-dancer-part-44&m=0) on his that she just knew was a nerd joke of some sort **,** and Splinter’s was in the process of being painted with oriental designs: trees, flowers, rolling mountains and such. 

When Raphael strode into his – the doors equipped with motion sensors, able to be locked and unlocked only from the inside – and let Jocelyn look around, she was stunned. Where the _hell_ had he gotten his sense of style? 

The fact that the doors were in the middle of the car separated it into two halves: her immediate right was curtained off but had the drapes pulled aside, showing a bed big enough to span the near ten-foot width of the car; the other side had a typical punching bag in one corner but was also outfitted with a flat-screen television and sofa across from it. A few shelves and tables were placed out of the way, and though they were mostly bare so far, she spotted a lava lamp (red, of course), a stack of magazines, a trio of tiny motorcycle figurines, and various collected street and warning signs. 

Like the rest of the Lair, a string of what might very well be Christmas lights were strung up around the edges of the roof; the recreational area’s were multi-colored, but the bedroom’s were solid red. In fact, as she looked closer, she got the impression he’d taken the red lights from a few other sets to make the solid red one – namely because she saw different sizes and shapes to the bulbs, but also because the multi-colored one had _no_ red lights. 

Or blue ones, she saw, which made her think Leo had done the exact same thing for his own car. Only yellow, white and green lights hung from the string. 

Then Raphael strode, still carrying her, into the bedroom portion and she almost started laughing. Aside from the fact that this was a _very_ similar setup to his other room, she saw immediately that he’d hung up things _she’d_ like from a few places. Case in point: a pair of pretty red ballet slippers, the ribbons tied together and dangling from a hook in the roof. 

Jocelyn slid out of her lover’s arms, only to take a step away then round on him, hands on her hips. “Okay, seriously,” she prompted. 

He shrugged, all innocence. “What?” he demanded. 

Narrowing her eyes, she intoned, “You _know_ what.”

He plastered on an aghast expression, a hand over his heart, saying, “Are ya _suggestin’_ I decorated _my_ room in stuff _you’d_ like? How _dare_ you,” he sneered. 

And she couldn’t help it; she laughed. _There_ was her big, goofy dork. He so rarely played around like that, but she’d noticed that when he did, it always seemed to be done for her. She was getting the impression he loved making her laugh, that he’d do nearly anything to get her smiling for him. 

And he was getting _really_ good at it, no less. 

She started to chide him, but only got out a syllable before he suddenly charged forward and gently tackled her into the bed, making her squeal and laugh the whole way down. And, _jesus_ , the bed was huge! It was almost as long as it was wide, making her wonder if it was one mattress or two. Her laughs quickly turned into moans, though, when he started nibbling on her neck, her train of thought diverted. 

Jo couldn’t help moving her arms against the bedding, learning the texture and give of this new bed, while his actions lit a fire in her belly. The comforter on top was more her style than his, all thick and heavy and fluffy, and the two main pillows (there were five total) had _very_ different levels of stiffness; he’d definitely made up the bedroom to appeal to her, too. 

Which meant he’d fully been planning on having _this_ room be _their_ room. Guessing where this would eventually lead, she murmured, “Go on, baby, ask me.” 

He paused, lifting his head, the red lights making his skin and eyes look more brown than green. “Ask what?” he checked. 

She arched a brow, waiting in silence. 

And Raphael ducked his head again, nuzzling into her neck. She figured he’d need to work up to this, so she went about piling affection on him while she waited: trailing her nails over his skin, giving scratches to his shell, pulling his bandana off so she could kiss his forehead, and rubbing her legs against him. 

“I wanna hear you say it,” she purred when moments passed with no progress from him. 

He muttered against her skin, the words too badly mumbled to be made out despite the fact that she knew what he’d said. 

“Louder,” she directed with a blooming grin, changing her affectionate touches to seductive ones. When she ran her foot along his inner thigh towards his crotch, he sucked in a breath, shifting his thighs farther apart for her – begging for more. 

He mumbled something again, giving her nips down her neck and shoulder. 

It wasn’t enough. “Louder,” she repeated, starting to give him harsher scratches along his sides. 

Shuddering, he hissed, “N’ yet.” 

“Not yet?” she echoed, dumbfounded. “It’s cruel to make me wait, you know.” 

He shook his head. Then, catching her gaze as he pushed himself up, he said, “Not yet. I’ll get t’it.” 

“Uh-huh,” she deadpanned. 

For a moment he looked away, as if summoning up some errant thread of courage. Then, meeting her eyes with a fire in his own, he growled, “I want my present first.” 

….Deal. 

* * *

Making love to Jocelyn was a constantly-evolving theme park for Raphael. Every night was better than the last, it seemed; it got better and better the more they learned how to communicate and tried out new techniques, with his personal inhibitions falling away as she got stronger and healthier. 

They were also learning pacing, which was especially good for _him_ – because, honestly, nothing and no one had ever made him work harder than his little lover did when they were in bed. Now that she could handle his strength and libido, he’d found that _her_ appetite was stronger than his own. She was god damn insatiable. 

…Usually. 

Tonight, _he_ won. He kept up her arousal with hands and mouth in between fucking her, taking breathers for himself while giving her none, and by the end she was pleading for him to be _done_. 

There was nothing more satisfying than knowing he’d left her totally exhausted. Besides, this was her birthday gift for him, and what he wanted, more than anything, was to have her totally content with him. She’d straight-up told him that his gift was _her_ , any way he wanted her, no questions or complaints. So when he finally stopped, leaving her panting and shaking in his arms, and she gasped that she just couldn’t take any more…

…he grinned wide, more pleased now than his combined four orgasms had given him. And, not to toot his own horn, but he was proud of himself tonight. Four orgasms and he’d managed to pull out each time – not an easy task! Granted, Jocelyn had undone some of his hard work by licking up some of his cum, but still. He was proud. Resisting her was hard enough when it wasn’t a special occasion; tonight she’d been his damn gift, putting on a show for him and dressing sexier than he’d ever seen her before. 

It was a miracle that he’d avoided cumming inside her even once, let alone _four times_. 

And now that they were relaxing, her back against him, catching their breath and enjoying the afterglow, his mind went back to the conversation – such as it was – they’d had before he’d started this roller coaster. 

_Ask me. I wanna hear you say it,_ she’d said. 

Damn, she knew him too well. She knew what was coming and he knew this teasing of hers meant the answer would be ‘yes’, yet his nerves were taut enough that he couldn’t seem to get it out. Even knowing what her answer would be wasn’t helping. 

He hadn’t planned on asking her _tonight_ , to be honest, and he hadn’t thought he’d made it _that_ obvious, either. But as he looked around at the way he’d decorated this room, the aesthetically-pleasing objects he’d chosen specifically because he knew Jocelyn would love it – the slippers, a ballerina **[music box](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fsc01.alicdn.com%2Fkf%2FHTB1NiKeJVXXXXXcXFXXq6xXFXXXG%2FBeautiful-Ballet-Dancer-Wholesale-Music-Box.jpg_350x350.jpg&t=MDZmMDYzMGY3NWYxMjg3NTY3YWVlMmY0ZGQ4Mjc2NjdmMjg1ZjBmMSx3aWdYNzI2bw%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172785699244%2Fthe-dancer-part-44&m=0) **he’d found intact somehow, a poster of a [**pair of swans**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.aiche.org%2Fsites%2Fdefault%2Ffiles%2Fimages%2Fwebinar%2Fswans.png&t=YzBjMWMzNjMwNTM0YWJiNGExMDBmN2IyNzVhZGEyZDFkODg2MTcxNyx3aWdYNzI2bw%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172785699244%2Fthe-dancer-part-44&m=0) – he realized how damn obvious it was. 

He clearly wanted her to love this room. Of course she’d catch on. 

Thinking of how she’d teased him, how she’d demanded he say the words aloud, told him that _she_ was excited about this, too. And so, mustering up more courage, he gave her neck a little kiss, then murmured into her ear. 

“Wanna move in with me?” 

Jocelyn sucked in a breath, her idle petting of his arm suddenly turning into a harsh scratch that made him shiver. It hadn’t hurt – her little nails weren’t strong enough – but it _had_ struck him in the heart. 

Pushing herself around, he caught a kind of wild look in her eyes before she mashed her mouth against his in a rough, needy kiss. Groaning, he rolled to his back, letting her keep up the kissing as much as she liked. 

It didn’t take long. She was still catching her breath, forcing her to stop every few seconds to gasp and fill her lungs – and, he admitted, he liked that. The way she wanted him more than air, demanding his affection at the expense of her own health, pleased the hell out of him. 

But, eventually, he couldn’t stand the waiting anymore. Pushing her back, he sat up, keeping a small distance between them, and ground out, “I wanna hear ya say it.” 

She grinned – she loved it when he turned around her own words, he’d learned – and said, “Yes, baby… _fuck_ yes!” 

His face must have betrayed how relieved and elated he felt, hearing that confirmation, because she threw herself at him and started kissing him again. This time she was also laughing in between needy pecks, and he couldn’t help starting to join her. 

He flipped them over so he could nuzzle her as he liked, and she kept up the joyous laughing as he snuggled into her. Soon broken sobs were interrupting her laughs, though, and she forced out, “Oh, g-god, I’m gonna cry…” 

Raphael wasn’t too far off from there, himself. His grin refused to let up, though, leading him to hiding his face in her chest and struggling to keep the mingled laughs and cries in his throat. Jocelyn kept touching him, as well, varying between pets to his head and shoulders and pausing to wipe at her eyes. 

In the end he couldn’t hold back a few of his joyful tears, but he comforted himself with the knowledge that his lover was _far_ more lost than he was. Soon they swapped positions and he cuddled and pet her while she cried against him. 

They were both smiling the entire time. 

In the aftermath, as they both calmed, Jocelyn suddenly lifted her head and speared him with a confused look. 

“What?” he demanded, a little self-conscious. 

She reached up and settled her hand just above his plastron – where, he realized suddenly, she could feel the vibrations in his throat. 

Crap. 

He jerked back, embarrassed; she gave him a curious but cute smile. 

“What is that?” she asked, tone suspicious. 

Oh, god, she _had_ noticed. He’d been hiding this habit of his since before they got together, knowing she’d find it adorable and feeling uncomfortable at the idea of her cooing over him. Besides, it was an animalistic habit – he hated those pieces of himself. 

He was a turtle, but that didn’t make him an _animal_. 

Looking away from her, he muttered, “W-we call it churrin’.” 

Tilting her head to catch his words better, she checked, “Churrin?” 

“C-churring,” he corrected, forcing himself not to slur. 

“Churring,” she repeated with a nod. “Okay, and it’s…?” she prompted. 

“…Involuntary,” he answered. 

Catching on, she nodded again, coming to crawl right back into his space, her arms linking around his neck. “And it embarrasses you,” she concluded. When he didn’t respond, still reluctant to have this conversation, she asked, “Why?” 

His head drooped, feeling more and more ashamed of himself for being unable to withhold the noises. Normally he did a good job of it, of stopping the hums and keeping her from noticing it if he couldn’t quite hold them back. It didn’t happen often, thanks to his discipline in the matter, but when it did he was careful to make sure his neck and chest weren’t touching her. 

Luckily it also didn’t make an audible sound to humans, so he had that in his favor. But this time he’d been so awash in happiness _he_ hadn’t noticed it was happening, and now…disaster. 

Raph had to force out an explanation, saying, “Cause it’s an animal thing and a kid thing and I ain’t a kid or an animal, an’…” He cut himself off, huffing, keeping his gaze averted. 

Jocelyn was being merciful, too, by not trying to catch his gaze or make him look at her. She just ventured, “Okay, let’s break this apart, shall we?” He didn’t respond, just silently wishing she’d drop it, so she went on, “ _Why_ does it happen?” 

…That was the _worst_ question she could’ve asked. He muttered out a series of broken syllables, intentionally hoping to mislead her into hearing whatever she wanted to hear – so he wouldn’t have to admit it. 

She bit him on the neck, making him jolt from surprise, then shudder as she slowly dragged her teeth over his skin. _Fuck_ , he loved biting – both giving and receiving – and she knew it, the little witch. 

“Try again,“ she said, a little growl to her voice. 

_Now_ he looked at her, giving her a warning glance. He wasn’t about to play these games with her. 

When she prompted him with a sharp, “Well?” he growled right back. 

Narrowing her eyes, she leaned in to kiss him – only to draw back when he leaned closer, his head tilting to accept it. So he made to follow her; she stopped him with an “ah-ah” and a hand on his chest. 

Great, she was going to _tease_ the answers out of him. In their year-plus together she’d done this enough times that he knew there was no winning. Once she got that look in her eyes, once she’d set her mind on this path, he was already the loser. And maybe that was partly because losing – against _her_ – was even better than winning. 

She was amazing like that. 

Still, he didn’t feel like playing this game, so he leaned back against the pillows and confessed. 

“I – well, we – do it when we’re happy ‘bout somethin’,” he told her, keeping his gaze absolutely anywhere except her face. 

There was a long pause, and then Jocelyn blurted, confused, “And you’re embarrassed by that?” She sounded incredulous, totally dumbfounded by his explanation. 

He tossed her a scowl. “Of course I am!” he snapped. “How’d _you_ feel if you jus’ started purrin’ or whatever whenever I kissed ya or somethin’, an’ you couldn’ stop it?” 

At that, she looked stunned; then her expression shifted to one of absolute _love_ and Raph blinked, confused. 

What just happened? 

She gave a whine, then asked, “That happens every time I kiss you?” 

_God_. 

Now _significantly_ more uncomfortable, he grabbed a pillow, shoved it over his face, and groaned. He felt Jocelyn grab his wrists, felt a push-pull on her end and a bounce of the mattress that told him she was bobbing in place. 

“Oh, my god,” she keened, “baby, that’s so sweet, oh, my god, oh, c’mon, stop the pouting! Come out here, lemme love you!” She was batting at him and pulling on him, her whine never ceasing. 

Instead, he flopped over on the bed, groaning even louder than before. For the next several minutes he refused to come out, and his lover kept pestering him. He’d _known_ she would find the churring cute – that’s why he’d kept it hidden! Now faced with her total enthusiasm he knew his decision had been the right one, because on top of her obvious joy about this, he just knew she was going to start teasing him even _worse_ from now on. 

She was damn well going to try and wring those churrs out of him while he was around his brothers. The thing she didn’t know, though? He _had_ – often – as a result of things she’d done. She just couldn’t hear it. 

His brothers could, and they’d teased him mercilessly over it. Reminded of that, he finally dropped his shield to sit back up and talk to Jocelyn about this. 

“Okay, stop,” he told her firmly. 

His tone got right through to her; she halted her excited motions, asking, “What’s up?” 

“Look, ya _can’t_ mess with me about this,” he said. “My bros already tease the hell outta me about it.”

“Tease you – wait, back up,” she replied, clearly trying to grasp what he’d said. “They tease you…about churring?” she checked. He nodded. She went on, “Well, how do they even know when you do it?”

Glancing away, he explained, “You can’t hear it…but we can.” 

Digesting that, she gave slow nods. “So what I’m getting here is that I’ve made you…churr? Is that right?” she asked. When he nodded, she continued, “So I’ve made you churr in front of your brothers, they’ve heard it, and they tease you about it.” 

“Which is why,” he agreed, voice hard, “ya can’t do it on purpose.” 

The sudden, hard look in her eye told him a storm was brewing. She promised sharply, “Done.”

That easy? Doubtful, he checked, “Done?” 

Nodding, she agreed, “I admit I like it when you get all flustered, but over this? Over just being happy?” She scoffed. “Now your bros are in trouble.” 

He groaned again. “Don’t do anything,” he told her. 

“Too late, already decided.” 

“This’s jus’ gonna come back on me,” he warned. 

“Ohh, no, it won’t,” she shot back. “You haven’t seen me at my worst. Gonna lay down the law next time I see ‘em.” 

He wasn’t sure if he was scared or excited by that. 

In the end, he just said, voice full of wonder, “I love you.” 

She grinned, chuckling. “Damn right, you do.” 

How she always managed to do that – turning anything and everything he said into a power trip on her part – always left him amazed. Her confidence clearly knew no bounds. 

He leaned in, giving her a kiss; after a moment she pulled back and stretched her arms over her head with a low groan. 

“Okay, _now_ ,” she said, giving him a smile, “your human needs sleep. You done tuckered ‘er out.” 

And now he was grinning again. He’d already cleaned her off as best he could without taking them to the shower, so he just helped her get under the covers, flipped the switch for the lights, and joined her. Hauling her against him again, he attempted to give her what he knew she wanted most right then. 

It was easy enough once he just let himself relax, and then Jocelyn hummed, pleased. “In the future,” she advised, “don’t hold that back.” 

“Ya like it that much?” he asked, his voice only a little broken up from the churring now openly vibrating through his chest with every breath. 

“Mm-hmm.” 

“No promises.” 

She chuckled, then drifted off, and all the while Raphael let her feel his contentment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Have a few notes for this one! Firstly, this second Lair is an Easter egg; I based it off the second Lair from the original movie trilogy, which was around 1991, I believe. They stumbled upon an abandoned subway station and repurposed it as their new home, and I loved it so much I just had to include it here.
> 
> Second, I actually looked up subway cars to try and figure out what sizes I’m working with for this. The average, believe it or not, is 10′ wide and 60′ long for each car. That’s a bit much for what I was imagining, but also fitting for these extra big boys. I’m thinking these particular cars should only be roughly 30′ long, though, which is still a generous size and would be easily cut into halves for their personal spaces.
> 
> Third, I’ve been meaning to include churring for a very long time, but always ended up either forgetting about it or having a hard time figuring out how to work it in, so it’s been absent this whole time in writing even though it’s been in my head.
> 
> My personal headcanon for churring is that it’s inaudible to human ears due to the thickness of the guys’ necks, but was fully audible when they were kids. As adults the only way a human can tell they’re churring is by feeling the vibrations, which doesn’t travel through the plastron very well but is easily felt in the neck/throat.
> 
> TBH when this fic began I didn’t like the idea of churring, so it took me a while to warm up to it. Had to think about it a lot, lol, but ultimately it’s a cute little thing and I know Jocelyn (as well as the rest of the guys’ respective lovers, when I get around to them) would love it. So, here we are, lol. I hope everyone enjoyed this. :3
> 
> Also, Raph’s bed is an Alaska King, which is nine-by-nine feet and is sold with a 3-piece box spring. He made the frame himself. ;)]]


	48. Hard Crash

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing/sexual references)

* * *

* * *

* * *

When Raphael woke up, it was to the sound of his phone vibrating on the bedside table. At that moment, as he rolled over and found himself _still_ on the bed, he kind of disdained picking this one. Having an Alaska King, a nine-by-nine foot giant mattress, had seemed like a great idea at the time. And it’d certainly made for plenty of room to tease and pleasure his lover, able to lay out with his head between her legs and still have the both of them _on the bed_ , but getting _out_ of it was clearly going to be a chore every morning. 

When he finally freed himself from the bed, he snatched up his phone and checked it. Donny was calling. 

At four in the morning. 

Answering it, he said, “Yeah, what’s up?” 

“Hey Raph,” Donny began, sounding a little exhausted. “Sorry to interrupt your fun–” Raph didn’t bother telling him that he’d been sleeping “–but I wanted to let you know…we kinda have a problem.”

Kinda? “What problem?” Raph checked, giving Jocelyn a glance to make sure she was undisturbed. 

Still sleeping like a rock. Good. 

“I called and texted earlier but you didn’t answer,” Donny went on. “It’s about Mikey. He’s back now, but for a while he was missing.” 

…Okay, what? Growing concerned, Raph got up and stepped out of the car, giving his lover silence. He asked, “Where was he?” 

“He said he got lost and took a nap, but…”

As if. Mikey knew the tunnels better than anyone. “Okay, what happened?” 

“Don’t know, he won’t tell us,” Donny said. “But he took Lisa home and then disappeared, so…” 

It had to have been something with her, then. 

“And,” Donny continued, “he broke his phone.” 

_Whoa, what?_ “Yer kiddin’.” 

“Nope. He said he dropped it, but I went back and found the pieces. Looks like he threw it.” 

Hesitant now, Raph ventured, “…And?” 

“And…I checked the SIM card.” Whatever _that_ was. “Last activity was a text from Lisa.”

Almost afraid to ask, Raph said, “What’s it say?” 

Sounding uncomfortable as hell, Donny said, “I’ll just forward it to you.” 

What the hell did _that_ mean? Whatever, Raph decided. “Alright…you want me t’come back?” 

“Not needed just yet. Mikey’s being really confrontational. Leo thinks it’d be best to let him cool off for a while. We just wanted to let you know what’s going on.” 

Nodding, Raph said goodbye, then turned a look towards his room. This was…conflicting. He couldn’t just leave Jocelyn here, but he felt the need to go check on his brother. Whatever had happened must have royally fucked up little Mikey – everything Donny had described was out of character for him. Breaking his phone, faking getting lost, staying out for so long, and being _confrontational?  
_

That was _Raph’s_ shtick. Mikey was more…incorrigibly energetic and positive, the one who did his best to _stop_ fights, not start them. 

Leo was probably right, though – giving Mikey time to collect himself was likely the best thing to do right now. In the meantime, Raphael considered tracking down Lisa and demanding answers from her. 

He couldn’t do anything _too_ bad, what with her being Jocelyn’s friend, but he could at least get to the bottom of this. It was only four a-m, after all; he had time. 

Right then his phone vibrated again and he checked it. Two texts from Donny: the first was, as he’d explained, mentioning Mikey being missing and how Leo and Donny were going out to look for him. 

The second was preceded by “FWD:” and a number Raph didn’t recognize. Okay, now he knew what “forward” meant. 

The text read: _I’m sorry about tonight. I messed up. If I’d known you were interested in me, I would’ve said something sooner. Can we still be friends, at least? I had a lot of fun with you and I don’t want to lose that. I promise to make it up to you.  
_

Well…that halfway answered things. Mikey must have tried something and Lisa had shot him down. 

And now Raphael was feeling an urge to go hunt down Lisa and terrorize her – just a little, anyway. A little payback for hurting his little brother, that’s all. He knew she was already scared of him; it’d be so easy to use that to his advantage. 

Jocelyn would probably get pissed at him, and knowing Mikey, _he’d_ disapprove, too. Still, it might just be worth the backlash. Raph considered this as he started pacing, weighing the pros and cons of finding Lisa and getting a little bit of revenge, right up until he noticed a pair of boxes on a table that hadn’t been here earlier. 

Someone must have stopped by while he was asleep, then. Curious, he checked the boxes and found various knickknacks inside – he recognized about half of them as having been found recently and spent the last few days being sanitized and polished. Donny had probably brought them over, expecting to divvy them up, before opting to let the lovers sleep for the night. 

Nodding to himself, Raph busied himself selecting the few that’d been his and finding places for them. It helped clear his mind a bit, leading him to accept that going out to bother Lisa was a useless course of action. 

Judging by the text, she’d felt horrible and had tried to make amends. It was Mikey who’d gotten too attached too fast – the youngest’s greatest weakness – and inadvertently set himself up for heartbreak. 

No, messing with Lisa wouldn’t help matters. He’d just have to settle with helping Mikey overcome his issues, instead. 

It was while Raphael was thinking about that, idly twisting a little yield sign figurine (probably from a Lego set) on the same shelf as his motorcycles, angling it this way and that, that he heard Jocelyn start to wake. 

There was an annoyed grunt, then a sleepy, “Baby…?”

Despite the heavy thoughts going on in his head, Raph smiled. It was crazy – just _hearing_ her made everything seem a little brighter. 

Heading back to her, he answered quietly, “Right here. Didn’t go far, promise,” he said as he crawled back into bed with her. 

She all but threw herself in his arms, wrapping her limbs around him as best she could with an irritated groan. It made him feel really, truly loved when she did that, just snuggling into him without any prodding from him. 

“You left me,” she pouted. 

He chuckled. “Sorry. Just had t’take a call,” he told her, starting to pet her incredible blonde curls (he _loved_ her hair so damn much). 

“Mm,” was her noncommittal response. Nuzzling into him, she muttered, “Who wazzit?” 

“Donny.” 

Another hum, then she asked, “What’d he want?” 

This is where things got tricky. How much should Raph tell her, and should he say anything at all just yet? Jocelyn was clearly still in her half-sleep state; there was a chance she wouldn’t even remember anything he said. She’d just get upset and later wake up angry with no memory why. 

“…Just updatin’ me on the party after we left,” he hedged after a moment’s thought. 

Exhausted Jocelyn took that reasoning without complaint, gave his collar bone a kiss (it was the only part of him she could reach), and quickly slipped back to sleep. 

For a long time after that, Raphael remained awake and alert, a conflict raging inside him. He loved – absolutely _loved_ – Jocelyn, and just spending idle time with her like this pleased the hell out of him. But right then it was also tinged with guilt. 

It’d been so clear, just a few hours prior, that Mikey had believed Lisa was going to be his ‘Jocelyn’, that he’d finally found what he’d been looking for all these years. Hell, Raph had almost believed it, and Jocelyn had clearly been rooting for them. So much hope had followed Mikey out of the party, and though it went without say that Leo and Donny had likely felt a measure of jealousy, they’d both been smiling as well. April and Splinter had even quietly talked as the youngest had left, and though Raph couldn’t hear their conversation, the grins on their faces suggested the subject. 

Hope, pure and simple. Everyone had been all but praying for things to work for Mikey. 

But it hadn’t panned out, and now Raph was starting to feel…bad. Like he shouldn’t have Jocelyn live here with him, that he shouldn’t even bring her around anymore. For his brothers – for Mikey most of all – she…and their relationship in general…represented something painful. 

Every time they kissed, they were sharing something his brothers had never experienced. As much as he loved Jocelyn, he also wanted to avoid hurting his brothers. It wasn’t enough to just not flirt with her in front of them; having her there, in sight, would eventually cause distress. She was a constant reminder of what they _didn’t_ have, and after this disaster with Lisa, Mikey would be feeling it harder than ever. 

God, this whole deal had made a mess of things, and Raph didn’t know how to go about cleaning it up. He supposed the only thing to do, really, was wait for Jocelyn to wake up so he could talk to her about it. He knew she’d understand him – she always did – and hopefully she’d be able to help him reach a decision. 

With luck, her argument would win over his and he wouldn’t have to radically change the way he lived and interacted with the people he loved in order to avoid hurting anyone. 

* * *

For a long moment, Jocelyn couldn’t respond. She just sat in place, staring at Raphael in stun. 

He’d just informed her of what happened with Mikey and Lisa, and she could hardly grasp it. She’d been _so sure_ that this was _it_ – for both of them! – and apparently it’d gone sideways. The lack of information, in particular, worried her: what had Lisa “messed up”? What had she told Mikey? 

And, god, how badly was Mikey hurting right now? The way he’d looked at Lisa all night had screamed “this is the one!” So to lose her somehow…he must be devastated. Jocelyn would need information. 

Problem was, she didn’t have her phone with her. She couldn’t call Lisa. And she didn’t want to call _Mikey_ – she wanted to talk to him in person, get a grasp of how he was feeling. A part of Jocelyn remained positive that this could work out, and she was willing to put in hours to _make_ it. If she could talk to the both of them, figure out what went wrong…

Well, it was either that or cut Lisa out of her life. Honestly, Jo didn’t want to have to do that, but if things had gone sour enough, she absolutely would. 

She’d already eaten and dressed (her lover had sneakily moved some of her clothes here ahead of time, so she had a fresh ensemble), so she was good to go with this, ready to meet it head-on. Thus, she held out a hand towards Raphael, saying, “Lemme see your phone.” 

He tilted his head at her. “Why?” he checked. 

“I wanna call Lisa, find out what happened.” 

He looked dubious. “Not sure that’s a good idea,” he said. 

Annoyed, she insisted, “She’s my friend, Raphael. And she hurt your brother. I love him, too, so I need to know what happened.” 

That made him huff, always irritated when she made comments like that, but with reluctance he held out his phone. 

Luckily she didn’t need to struggle to remember Lisa’s number; it was displayed in the forwarded text. So she dialed up the number and waited. Expecting Lisa to decline the call – it would be unknown, after all – Jo waited for the voicemail to pick up. 

Instead, to her surprise, Lisa answered with a sharp, “Hello?” 

Like she’d been anticipating a call.

“Hey, Lisa,” Jo began, hearing her own stun. “What’s up?” 

“Oh, Jo,” was Lisa’s deflated response. 

Okay, then, there was clearly more at play here than Jocelyn had expected. Going on bluntly, she said, “Soooo, I understand you shot down Mikey last night.” 

There was a heavy sigh. “Jo, don’t start,” Lisa complained. 

“Too late. What happened?” 

There was a groan from the other side, Lisa clearly reluctant to explain. 

“I’m so serious right now, Lisa,” Jo warned. “You tell me what’s going on right now–”

“Or what?” Lisa challenged sharply. 

“‘Or’ nothing, you’re gonna tell me. Period.” 

There was a long pause, punctuated only by shaky breaths, before Lisa bit out, “He kissed me, that’s what happened.” 

Hardly a surprise – but knowing there’d been kissing left Jo conflicted. She wanted to cheer on Mikey, but at the same time, she wanted to chide him. That was _way_ too fast. 

Sighing, Jo ventured, “Okay, I can see how that’d be a problem…but you couldn’t have, like, just told him to slow down? You had to _reject_ him?” 

“Oh, my god, you make it sound like that was _easy_ for me,” Lisa snapped. “You know what, no. I don’t have to explain myself.” 

“You do if you want to stay friends with me,” Jo shot back. 

“Maybe I don’t, if you’re gonna be like that!” 

“Like _what?”_ Jo demanded. 

“Like a bitch!” 

Sucking in a breath, Jo had to fight off an urge to scream into the receiver. Instead, struggling for control, she hissed back, “Oh, so me wanting my boyfriend’s brother to have good things makes me a bitch? Showing concern makes me a bitch?!” 

“It does when you start implying I tore out his heart for funsies!” Lisa returned. “Look, I apologized, and he just sent me away. Maybe you should be snapping at _him_ cause he was just as mean to _me!”_

Jocelyn found that _very_ hard to believe. “Of course he sent you away, he was hurting!”

“So was I!” 

“He’s _still_ hurting!” Jo insisted. 

_“So am I!”_ Lisa shot back. 

Almost growling from anger, now, Jo replied harshly, “Well, then, maybe you shouldn’t’ve rejected him.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Lisa snapped, “are you for real? When’re you gonna tell _him_ off for kissing a girl when she hasn’t shown any interest, huh?!” 

“Hasn’t shown–” Jo repeated, stunned. “Lisa, I was watching you two! You were _clearly_ ‘interested’!” 

“I never said that!” 

Just about ready to start screaming, Jocelyn opened her mouth; Raphael quickly snatched the phone out of her hand, surprising her. As her eyes focused on him, she found him looking ready to murder something. The one-sided conversation had clearly gotten to him. 

To the phone, he said, “There’s no excusin’ him kissin’ you without askin’, but if you let ‘im get that far, you’re as much at fault.” 

Ouch. That was going to _wreck_ Lisa, Jo thought, and honestly she was fine with that. She could only hear vague, high-pitched sounds from the phone, but it was enough to make Raphael’s expression darken. 

“You better hope none of us just happen to spot you on the street someday,” he warned, then pulled the phone away to end the call. The look he gave Jocelyn then was one of barely-leashed rage. 

Glancing away, she said, “I need to talk to him.” 

“You shouldn’t bother him,” he told her. 

Shaking her head, she disagreed, “No, I _need_ to talk to him. Find out how bad this is.” 

Reaching out, Raphael turned her face back to him, giving her a deep, hard look. He was reading her, she realized, so she let him see how she felt: angry, worried, offended. She didn’t think this was going to ‘work out’ anymore, but that made it all the more important for her to get ahead of this. 

It was largely _her_ fault this had happened, after all. She’d asked Lisa to DJ the party, had encouraged socializing, had even told Lisa to go with Mikey at the end of the night. She was practically the literal representation of that “now, kiss” meme, had been pushing for it in her own way. She’d just…so badly wanted the both of them to find love. 

Maybe she’d tried too hard, then, allowing her wants and hopes to cloud her perceptions. Maybe she’d been entirely wrong and Lisa just didn’t mesh with Mikey. Maybe Jocelyn should’ve just kept her damn nose out of it. 

Now feeling ashamed of herself, she looked away; Raphael slipped his arms around her and kissed her temple. 

“S’not your fault,” he told her. 

She huffed a sigh. “Sure feels that way.” 

After a moment, he said, “Sometimes you try your hardest, an’ things just don’t work out like you want ‘em to.” 

At first that made her smile, and then she realized how familiar those words were. Pulling back from him, she demanded, “Did you just quote Lilo and Stitch?” 

He focused pointedly on some spot over her head.

Chuckling, she nudged him. “Alright, point made. Still, I wanna have a chat with Mikey.” 

“…Maybe wait a couple days,” he offered. 

She shook her head. “And wait for the wounds to fester? Uh-uh, I need to fix this.” 

“Ya can’t _fix_ this,” Raphael told her firmly. “Just gotta give ‘im time to get over it.” 

Shaking her head again, she asked, “Do you really think he’s gonna ever get over this without help?” 

His expression said ‘no’. 

“Exactly,” she said. “Let’s start heading back. I promise to be as gentle as I can, but I have to do something.” 

Another few moments passed, Raphael looking at her with quiet measure, weighing his options. Then, at last, he nodded. “But if I tell ya to stop, ya stop,” he told her. 

“Deal.” 

* * *

Unsurprisingly, when Jocelyn found Michelangelo, he was in his skate room. At a glance, it was clear he was depressed; every trick he pulled lacked its usual gusto. He seemed…low-energy, and for him, that was both rare and painful to see. 

It meant he’d gotten _really_ invested in Lisa, and now he’d lost a significant portion of himself. 

Trying to remain chipper, she called, “Hey Mikey, sup?” 

He didn’t respond – he barely gave her a glance. _Ouch._

Hesitant, unsure how to handle him like this, she offered quietly, “Can we talk?” 

“Dun wanna.” 

Okay, yeah, he was _really_ down. Now how to bring him back up…? 

Using the same tactics she used on Raphael wouldn’t end well, she knew that, but she was getting the impression it was the only way to break through his metaphorical shell. 

“I think we need to talk,” she said, more firmly than before. 

And Mikey ignored her, like she wasn’t even there. She could imagine he was thinking something along the lines of “just leave me alone”, but there was zero percent chance of that. The way she saw it, he was nursing a demon right now and she was determined to exorcise it. 

Hitting hard wouldn’t get his attention, though, so she changed tactics. She said, “I’m sorry, Mikey, this is all my fault.” 

He stopped, one foot on his board, and though he didn’t look at her, he replied, “This has nothin’ to do with you.” 

“But it does, doesn’t it? _I_ invited Lisa to the party, _I_ advised her to go with you,” Jocelyn told him. “I pushed for something she wasn’t willing to give, and it got you hurt. This is my fault.” 

He finally glanced at her then, face tormented. And she saw, for the first time, that he looked _exhausted_. Either he hadn’t slept or he’d been working hard here, using his skateboard as a kind of physical therapy to help him forget. He was breathing hard, and even looked like he was shaking a little. 

Training himself to the point of passing out. She knew how that felt – and knew how unhealthy it was. 

He would just break _himself_ if he kept that up. The mutagen could only help so much. 

Striding closer, more concerned than ever, she said, “Mikey, I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to block out emotion through movement and work. I know; I did the same thing for a decade. But it’s just going to make things worse,” she told him. 

He looked away again. “Doesn’t hurt so much when I’m moving,” he said, and it pierced her heart. 

Eyes starting to sting, she pulled him away by the wrist. “I know, and I know it’s hard not to keep at it, but you _can’t_.” She was honestly surprised that he was letting her lead him, but that just went to show how far he’d fallen. 

_My fault,_ she thought again. 

After a moment he yanked his arm back – and ran his hand over his face, sneakily wiping at his eyes. _God_. 

“Mikey, look at me,” she pressed. When he didn’t, she added more gently, “Please?” 

He scoffed. “Yeah, look at my bro’s g-f. That’s a great idea.” 

_Ouch._ She winced, then blundered on past the pain, saying, “How about someone who cares about you? That good enough?” 

Mikey glanced at her, then away again. “What d’you want?” he demanded at the wall. 

“I want to help,” she told him. “I know I can’t magically make everything better, but I want to do what I can to help you get through this.” 

She’d chosen her words carefully there – “through”, not “over”. There was no avoiding this, she knew; he’d have to battle it out. And he needed to know a fight was ahead of him now, before he could fool himself into thinking there were other methods available to him. 

Voice low, he replied, “Why do you even care? I’m not your boyfriend.” 

_Christ_ , he was even lower than she’d thought. “No, but I think of you like my brother. And Lisa was my friend. I’m involved in two ways and I–”

“Was?” he interrupted sharply, giving her a disbelieving look. 

It took a moment of thought for her to get what he meant, and then she agreed with a nod, “Was, yeah. You really think I’m gonna stay friends with someone who hurt you?” Shaking her head, she said, “Soon as I get my phone back, I’m deleting her contact.” 

Now he looked sad, saying, “I didn’t wanna mess up your friendship, Jo.” 

“ _You_ didn’t,” she assured him. “ _She_ did.” 

Shaking his head, he explained, “Lisa didn’t do anything wrong. It was all me.” 

“I find that hard to believe,” she replied, realizing that this might just be the line of questioning she needed to get him to open up. “What could you have possibly done?” 

She already knew, of course – he’d kissed Lisa. Jocelyn had been told as much straight from the source. 

To her surprise, though, Mikey’s response was a blunt, “I didn’t ask. Anything. I just assumed, and she had every right to react the way she did.” 

That…was unexpected. Still, she knew he needed to admit everything, so she went on, “What did you do, Mikey?” 

He lowered his head. Voice dripping with shame, he confessed, “I kissed her. Didn’t ask if she was single or anything first. Just went for it.” 

He sounded so tormented, it tore at Jo’s heart. Stepping closer, she rubbed his shoulder, offering comfort even as his words confused her. She checked, “You didn’t ask if she was single?” How was that relevant? 

Shaking his head, he explained, “I should’ve. Hot girl like her, of course she’d have a boyfriend already, y’know?” 

That comment made Jo’s motions halt. A _boyfriend?_ As information conflicted in her mind, Jo offered carefully, “Mikey, that…did Lisa tell you that?” 

At once, she could see him growing more tense. “Yeah…why?” he asked, even as he looked reluctant to hear the answer. 

Hesitating, Jocelyn replied, “I think…she was just trying to let you down easy. Lisa doesn’t have a boyfriend,” she told him; Mikey’s face started to crumble. 

“No, then…then why would she…?” he started, looking more and more crushed by the second. 

“I dunno…I could ask her,” she offered. 

Shaking his head, he sniffed, then bit out, “No, leave it. Leave her. I don’t care anymore.” His voice broke as he spoke, proving the opposite. 

Reaching for him, heart breaking, she said, “Mikey…” 

He shook his head again, stepping aside. “Forget it. I’m done,” he hissed, voice shaky. 

“Don’t bottle this up,” she told him, following with determined steps. 

She got a hand on his arm; he did a lightning-quick deflection, batting her hand away with one arm and striking her sternum with his palm with the other. She recoiled from the strong hit, gasping, pain radiating from the point of contact. 

Mikey was _immediately_ regretful, frozen in place for a second out of horror before cautiously reaching out. “Jo, I…I didn’t mean…”

Heavy footfalls came their way, and Jocelyn turned just in time to intercept a near-crazed Raphael. He looked _pissed,_ glancing between his bruised lover and hurting brother, obviously conflicted. 

“You okay?” he demanded. 

“I’m fine, this is fine,” she told him. “Don’t worry about it. _You’ve_ given me harder hits. Just chill, okay?” 

He was glaring at Mikey in between worried gazes at her, tense as hell, but luckily he seemed perfectly in control of himself. 

When she turned back to Mikey, he was holding his head with both hands, looking so torn up it made her heart hurt worse than her new bruise did. 

_My fault,_ she thought again, feeling horribly guilty that she’d set all this up. Every single god damn domino that had fallen to create this clusterfuck had been _hers_. 

Knowing Mikey wouldn’t let go and reveal the true depth of his feelings with Raphael here, Jo shooed him away with a low, “Go on. I’ll call you if I need you.” 

Though reluctant to go, he seemed to pick up that Jocelyn had a plan underway. With a nod he retreated, leaving the skate room to just her and Mikey. 

Then she walked right up to Mikey – he looked honestly scared, like she was going to punish him or something – and looped her arms around his neck in a hug. 

For a second he was stunned; then, as she said, “I’ll stay right here as long as you need it,” he cinched his arms around her and ducked his head down. She heard and felt him give a shaky sob, and it made her hug him tighter. 

“I just wanted to make her happy,” he whispered, and she knew then that he was finally letting go. 

“I know,” she agreed, equally quiet. 

Then he said, “…I just wanted to _be_ happy,” and Jocelyn found herself starting to hate Lisa. 

And herself. 

Mikey didn’t deserve this pain, not by a long shot. If this were a story, she would be complaining to the author – why hurt such a pure-hearted being? What was the point? 

But that was the trick, wasn’t it? There wasn’t a point – there was no master of fate weaving a web, no gods toying with the hearts of mortals. This was just life, and sometimes life was cruel. Sometimes _people_ were cruel, even when they tried to not be. 

Lisa had clearly tried to avoid hurting Mikey, but her lie had done more damage than the truth would have. And now Jocelyn had little choice but to let Mikey mourn, using her shoulder as his pillow. 

Maybe she’d talk to Lisa about this again. Maybe not. Right then all Jo knew was that she was never going to try setting up a date again. 

The risk wasn’t worth it when _this_ was a possible outcome.


	49. A Growing Home

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Though Raphael was less than pleased with what was going on in Mikey’s life, he had to admit he didn’t have much ability to help. Jocelyn had done a great job of that, it seemed, getting Mikey to talk to her…and cry. 

Seeing that embrace (through the security cams) had left Raph conflicted: on the one hand, he wanted to barge in there and knock Mikey out for daring to hug Jocelyn like that; on the other, he knew how much Mikey needed this moment. After all, Raph hadn’t missed how his lover had commented on what Mikey had been doing, working himself to exhaustion. 

It was _exactly_ the same thing she’d done, and she had the experience to know it was a terrible habit. She’d broken right through to Mikey, her knowledge on this subject exactly what the brothers _didn’t_ have. As much as it’d stung – for all of them – to see Mikey opening up to Jocelyn instead of them, they’d all agreed that they just weren’t equipped to handle this anyway. 

But once that talk was over…

It was hard, watching Mikey then. He was like a ghost of himself, just floating from activity to activity, never showing any real enjoyment in anything he did. He was trying, though, so _they_ kept trying, going for normality. They chatted and teased as usual, though they were a little more careful with Mikey. 

The last thing any of them wanted was to trigger an explosion – or, worse, an implosion. 

They’d fallen into a routine for several weeks, the brothers taking turns keeping an eye on Mikey. Only one at a time, though – Leo’s idea, citing that Mikey would feel crowded and pressured otherwise. Someone was always keeping up with him, following when he went to the surface whenever he wanted to patrol. 

And, little by little, they saw Mikey start to heal. It was hard work – littered with painful moments along the way – but they even got Mikey to give little, fragile smiles. It was weird, seeing him so depressed, and maybe it’d be better if they could get him to explain _why_ he was so anguished, but the youngest consistently refused to elaborate. 

Whatever was going on in his head, it was damaging, yet he wouldn’t talk to them about it – or Jocelyn, either. It was…disturbing, in a way, knowing Mikey had gone from being the most emotionally open of them to the most closed-off. 

Raph did his best to give Mikey patience, though, opting to focus on his own life in the meantime. He’d had a long talk with Cecilia about Jocelyn moving in with him, and _that_ was an experience he didn’t want to repeat. 

Following that was an equally difficult conversation with his family, telling them that he’d invited Jocelyn to live with him and they’d gotten her mother to agree. At once, concerns had been thrown at him from all directions, a metaphorical shitstorm of worries, complaints, and questions. 

Ultimately, though, he got his way. Once a series of precautions had been put into place, they’d made the transition, spreading her favorite personal items between his two bedrooms. It made him so elated, he couldn’t quite put it into words – so he settled for showing Jocelyn his appreciation. 

In private. 

And, as predicted, she managed to soothe his worries about how their relationship felt to his brothers. In the end, she crushed his concerns with a simple, “Honestly, if they want us to stop, they’ll say so. You know that.” 

An excellent point. It might be awkward, but his brothers were far from quiet – well, excepting Mikey’s current funk, anyway. They’d definitely speak up if Raph’s affections for Jocelyn got out of hand. 

And Splinter was pleased as punch, having her here. They talked often, his father and his lover, and Jocelyn was catching on to the traditions of living here. Though Splinter never made her kneel on the pillow when she chatted with him in his alcove, she did anyway – at least until her legs started aching from the position. Then she started sitting cross-legged instead, at Splinter’s suggestion. 

The weights room had undergone a change, too, altering to fit what she needed for ballet. With her collected funds, she ordered a series of mirrors and bars to cover one of the walls, and Raph and Donnie worked together to get them installed properly. Jocelyn was the overseer during this project, letting them know if they needed to alter anything before cementing everything into place. 

At the end, grinning, she approved with a low purr, “Perfect.” 

Raphael’s thoughts were sidelined by that look of hers, going straight to the gutter. He’d had to take a walk to keep from acting on his impulses, his mind seizing on a particular fantasy he’d been having since they’d gotten together, involving the weights room and his girlfriend in a skirt… 

Officially, Jocelyn’s address remained at the apartment where she’d grown up. Needing her own vehicle for getting around, she finally got her motorcycle license and got the ownership of her father’s bike transferred to her. Needless to say, Raph was _less_ than okay with that, knowing all too well how dangerous motorcycles could be. She soothed him by buying riding leathers to match her helmet, pads and gloves, though…and he had to admit…she looked sexy as hell in those leathers. 

He may or may not have made her wear the jacket and _only_ the jacket for him a few times… 

And though she was technically living for free with them (as every amenity they had was, technically, stolen), she started job hunting. Raphael protested, but she was determined to pull her weight. Hot girl like her, too? It took her just a few applications to get accepted at a fashion store, working part-time. 2-4 hours a day, four days a week (with an altering schedule by the week), she worked a floor, helping other girls find their perfect clothing styles. 

Her pay wasn’t great, but it was enough that she easily handled grocery shopping in April’s place. The two women sometimes went together and sometimes the guys waited until after dark and someone drove her to the store, communicating with her the whole time so she knew what to get. They parked out of the way so they could help unload the cart once purchasing was over, and it was honestly the best setup they’d had to date. 

Having a human living _with_ them was incredibly helpful for little things like that. 

Her job was sidelined a bit when she got accepted into the School of American Ballet (she _shrieked_ when she saw the letter), though it was specifically for the summer course. Since it started July 1st, she had time to work out her work schedule with her manager; by the time the summer course started, she had no trouble going between ballet classes and work. 

She was tired out most of the time, though, so Raphael did what he could to help keep her relaxed. Soon massages were a routine, with him focusing most often on her feet. It made him wince every time he encountered a new bruise or scab, but she assured him this was totally normal. She was taking every precaution with her dancing, including bandages and lotion as needed. 

Still, he ached a little for her. This dream of hers was hard on her body, and it made him glad his mutagen could help her along the way – and made him utterly taken aback by how many women had made it to star status without any help. He was sure Jocelyn could’ve made it there without the mutagen, too, he was just relieved she wouldn’t have to suffer so much thanks to his accidental aid. 

Ballerinas were _amazing_. 

On a more private note, she was getting more feisty and domineering in bed, and it was so much _fun_. He quickly caught on to her habits, and honestly, they were pleasing as hell. Her most common techniques included directing him to not move (which was a rule only because literally nothing physical could bind him by this point; they had to work with the honor rule), then taking her time going over him, teasing and pleasuring and _complimenting_ as she went. 

He couldn’t decide what was better: when she sneakily gave him scratches and pets, or when she murmured to him how much he pleased her. When she started in with the “god, you’re so hot” and “I love you so fukkin much” comments, he was utterly lost. 

_Every time._

_God_ , he loved that woman. 

He had a limit with those games of hers, though; every one ended with him breaking the rules to take her until he was sated. His limit was growing, though, in time with his self-control. Being with Jocelyn in bed was weirdly helpful in giving him greater discipline, which was probably because the reward was so worth the effort. 

Overall, she was sending his self-esteem _skyrocketing_. The best moment so far was when he recalled April had given him two pairs of jeans for his birthday and decided to [**try them on**](https://www.deviantart.com/dragonslover1/art/Heeyyyyy-Ladies-742017804). 

They were both tight around his thighs – not that he was surprised. He felt like he would burst the seams as soon as he took a single jump, but then, he kind of always felt that way. April had attempted to get ahead of that by shopping in the plus-sized section for him, but the jeans made by humans never seemed to account for _muscle_ rather than _fat_. They never fit quite right. 

But they stretched, which was good. And while he was testing the material, he got a naughty idea, opting to remain wearing them despite the threats to the weak stitching. All he had to do was wait for Jocelyn to get home from work…

As soon as he heard the secret entrance open and her motorcycle ride in, his excitement went through the roof. But he pretended otherwise, idly watching TV with a foot propped up on the couch as he slouched against the cushions. And when Jocelyn rounded the corner and saw him, she stopped dead, eyes dropping to eat up every inch of those pants. 

She bit her lip – which, by now, he’d ranked number one in his list of Things He Couldn’t Resist – and strode right over, a hand reaching out for him. “Come here,” she directed, voice brooking no argument. 

Smirking, he did so, taking her hand to let her lead him. He’d known this would get her – what he hadn’t expected was her full reaction. The moment they were in his room with the door shut, she rounded on him, hand over her heart. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she chided. 

He recoiled a little, surprised. “You alright, babe?” he checked. 

“ _Hell_ no, I just had a mini heart attack,” she told him. 

She kept looking down at his legs, he noticed, eying the jeans. It was _pretty_ obvious she liked them. 

Going for playful, he shrugged, saying, “They’re just jeans.” 

“Just jeans? Uh, no,” she disagreed, “that was a malicious attempt on my _life_.” Then, stepping into his space, she hooked her fingers through the belt loops and tugged, a move so unexpected he was pulled against her. 

Good fucking god, that was sexy. 

Standing on her toes, chin lifting, she murmured, “New rule: you show off those hella thighs for me every chance you get, okay baby?” 

Fucking _done._

Ever since that day she’d been piling on the compliments and praise, and Raphael couldn’t tell if he was steadily dying or coming alive from it. Sometimes it embarrassed the living hell out of him, making him hide in the bed or under a pillow or even in his shell…but sometimes it pleased him to no end, giving him a huge shot of confidence. 

Jocelyn was just…amazing like that. 

He was so damn lucky to have met her, and he was starting to do the same thing she did sometimes: count his blessings. She said she did it every so often to keep her grounded in reality, even when all she wanted was to hide in fantasy. 

She had a home, her mother, her lover, a job, a fleet of friends, and her ballet. Now Raphael was doing it, too, and his count put into perspective that he was more than just lucky – for all that he didn’t have, what he _did_ have made him truly blessed. 

He had a home, his father, Jocelyn, his brothers, April, his health and strength, the city as a whole, and a fate he wouldn’t trade for the world. Thinking about that, trivial things like where he lived seemed unimportant. 

He had everything he needed sleeping in his bed with him every night. 

* * *

It was during dinner one night, Jocelyn sitting with Raphael on the couch, that he noticed she kept lowering and lifting her glasses while staring at a sign on the wall, looking perplexed. 

Curious, he ventured, “Babe? What’re ya doin’?” 

Hesitant, she replied, “That sign’s in focus. Without my glasses on.” 

…Okay? “Is that good or bad?” he asked, confused. 

“Not sure. It used to be blurry, I swear,” she told him. Then, looking at him, she checked, “This couch hasn’t moved, right?” 

He shook his head, an answer forming in his mind. But there was no way…was there? “Nah, haven’t moved it in like three years,” he said. They’d given it a new spot, no longer against the wall, so the couch could face a huge 60″ flatscreen they’d found and installed when they were sixteen. Since then the couch had remained in place. 

As the lovers stared at one another then, he could see Jocelyn coming to the same conclusion he had: the mutagen. But could it really fix her eyesight? It must have been; what other explanation was there? Eyes didn’t just magically get better. Short of a transplant or lasik eye surgery there was no possibility of it happening. 

In unison, they called for Donnie. 

The genius leaned over the kitchen’s railing to see them, checking, “Yeah, what’s up?” 

Jocelyn gestured her eyes. “I think my eyesight’s getting better.” 

That gave him pause, but only for a moment. Then Donnie replied, “Schedule an eye exam. I don’t have the equipment for it here.” 

Nodding, she did so the next morning, going through three places before she found an opening that Saturday. And when she came back from that trip, she confirmed lightly, “Negative 1.5, negative 1.25,” as she gestured her eyes. That was down a whole point for each – they used to be 2.5 and 2.25, respectively. 

Her right eye had slight astigmatism, she said, so that one was always slightly worse. Donnie suggested there’d be no fixing that, but he was amazed at her recovery. Raph was _pretty_ sure Donnie made a note of that somewhere in his research on their mutagen. 

“Of everything the mutagen did so far,” Donnie said to her while drawing her blood once more that afternoon, “this was the _last_ thing I expected.” 

“No kidding,” she agreed. “I mean, if it could make eyes better, I figure it would’ve started with you, ya know?”

Distracted, he commented, “Oh, I don’t _need_ these,” while taking off his glasses and putting them aside. He rolled aside to his centrifuge, starting to separate her blood sample and set up the machine. 

“…Hold on, what?” she demanded. 

The brothers already knew this, but no one had explained that to _her_. 

“I found these glasses when I was about eight,” he told her. “The lenses are so strong it magnifies whatever I look at. I started using them because I didn’t have a microscope at the time and they helped me take closer looks at everything.” 

Baffled, Jocelyn blurted, “Okay, cool, then why do you _still_ use them?” There were multiple microscopes in this room, alone, so her question was understandable. “And how do you not get headaches using glasses you don’t need?” 

“Cause I can’t take my microscope with me everywhere,” he said, turning back to her. “It’s more habit than anything. Usually I just forget to take them off until I’m in bed. And because I use them all the time, I don’t put them on just whenever. I’ve adjusted.” 

The look she gave him said _you motherfucker_ , and Raph chuckled at the expression. That got her to scowl at him next, so Raph lifted his hands in innocence. 

“Hey, don’t get pissed at me, I keep tellin’ ‘im to get rid of those things,” he defended. 

“Not happening,” Donnie told him. “They’re too useful.” 

“You have those goggles, genius,” Raph pointed out. 

“And they can run out of battery and die,” Donnie returned. “Besides, they’re for scanning compounds and temperatures, not magnification.” 

“You have a zoom feature,” Raph countered. 

“Right,” Donnie agreed, “a _zoom_. It takes things that’re far away and makes them look closer. A microscope takes things that’re tiny and makes them look bigger. Not the same thing.” 

“Bet you could add that without any trouble,” Jocelyn offered. 

Shaking his head, Donnie disagreed, “They already have sixteen different lenses. I can’t fit any more without massively overhauling the whole thing.” 

“And how long would that take you?” she replied blandly. “A week, at most?” 

“More like a month and several headaches,” he sighed. “The glasses are just easier, okay?” 

“See?” Raph said to Jocelyn, pulling her up out of her seat. “He won’t do it. He’s married to those glasses.”

Donnie gave him an annoyed look, clearly irritated. 

“Leavin’,” Raph said quickly, lifting his hands in defense. He towed Jocelyn with him out of the lab, but while he was amused, she looked concerned. “Hey,” he began when they were back in the main chamber, “what’s up?”

Looking up at him sideways, she said, “1.25 and 1.5. My eyes haven’t been this good since I first got glasses, and I was six then,” she told him. “The mutagen reversed a decade’s worth of decay in a _year_.” 

And she was worried about that, he concluded. He brushed her hair back to stroke her cheek, commenting low, “Yer worried about what else might happen?” 

She nodded. “Eyesight is supposed to be permanent, and if the mutagen can heal that, what else can it do? What other permanent things can it change?” 

Raphael didn’t have an answer for that. He could only offer weakly, “Well, we’re still doin’ the blood checks. If anything pops up, you know Donnie’ll tell us.” 

Glancing away, she pointed out quietly, “Eyesight doesn’t show up on blood tests, now does it?” 

A point. The analyses Donnie ran could only see so much. 

The lab’s curtain yanked aside and Donnie – glasses back in place – spoke to Jocelyn, “Everything the mutagen does that heals or aids won’t show up in blood tests, but it also can’t mutate you without altering your DNA. Whatever big things might end up happening, we _will_ know about it ahead of time,” he promised her. “Think of the mutagen as a symbiote: it just wants you to live as long as you can, so it can keep living, too. It can’t hurt you.” 

“Just because it hasn’t hurt _you_ doesn’t mean–” Jocelyn started. 

Donnie interrupted with a shake of his head, “Jo, I’ve tested the mutagen before. Remember that five-thousand-to-one ratio I gave you before? The mutagen won’t go above that, even if more of it is introduced. I’ve tried. The excess is discarded. It’s more intelligent than you realize, and it _won’t_ do anything that cold harm you.” 

After a moment of thought, she looked away. “But what if it does something like eat away at my tattoo?” 

“Then we can refresh it,” he offered. “Or I could try and create an ink that withstands the mutagen better.” 

She considered that for a moment, then bowed her head and leaned into Raphael. Hugging her and rubbing her neck, Raph gestured that Donnie go ahead and get back to what he was doing. 

“I got this,” he said. 

Nodding, Donnie retreated, the violet curtain falling back into place. 

With a sigh, Raph hefted Jocelyn up in his arms – something he absolutely loved doing, though slightly less so when his lover was bummed out – and headed to his room so they could have a private conversation. 

His bedroom hadn’t changed much since she moved in. A new desk had been added for her belongings, namely her laptop and makeup collection, and she had taken all but one of the drawers in his dresser. She was still adamant that he needed to get a bathtub (which, he was sure, was because _she_ wanted one), and though she didn’t say anything about it he knew she disliked the lack of walls around the bathroom area. 

He was planning on fixing that, but first he needed to find the damn materials. So far, nothing. 

Several of her posters had also been hung up, essentially separating the room into his half and hers. He’d even moved the red sheet under the lights so unfiltered light lit up her side. Her eyes weren’t as strong as his, after all; she needed the stronger light. 

The one curious thing he’d noticed was the fact that her side wasn’t strictly in threes anymore. It was organized, yes, but sometimes he counted everything to ensure nothing was off and could irritate her, and he’d come to realize that _she_ wasn’t impulsively separating or grouping her things. He hadn’t brought it up yet, though, wondering how long it’d take _her_ to notice. 

Now, kicking the door shut and setting her on the bed, he knelt in front of her, stroking her cheek with one hand. 

“You alright?” he asked softly. 

She gave a nod, though she didn’t _look_ alright. “Just full of thoughts,” she murmured. 

A part of him wanted to point out that, so far, the mutagen had only done good things for her: healing her wounds, boosting her stamina, and now fixing her eyesight. But he knew better. When she got this way, she saw everything as a negative and wouldn’t take kindly to his positivity. 

So he said instead, “What’s your greatest fear?” 

She pondered on that for a moment, then said, “What if something changes and I stop being me?” 

“Never’ll happen,” he declared, certain of it. 

With a weak smile, she said, “How can you be so sure of that? You don’t know what the mutagen can do any better than I do.” 

Shrugging his massive shoulders, he said, “I’m nineteen. I’ve had mutagen in me all my life, an’ my personality never changed. An’ I have several thousand times as much mutagen as you. If anyone was gonna change, it’d be me, an’ that hasn’t happened yet. You’ve got _no_ chance.” 

Glancing away, she whispered, “That’s my point: you’ve had the mutagen all your life. How do you know it _didn’t_ change your personality?” 

“Better question,” he countered, “would I really wanna be someone else? I’m happy as I am. An’ you helped with that,” he pointed out. 

Her brows drew together, then she looked at him again. “I did?” she asked, surprised. 

He nodded. “I used t’hate how often I lost my cool. Remember that time I was arguin’ with Leo an’ you interrupted? Remember what ya said?” 

Her smile then said she did. She’d asked Leo, _You think his anger is a problem?_ And when Leo agreed that, yes, Raph’s anger was a problem, she’d returned smartly, _Then that’s_ your _problem. All I see is intensity of emotion, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Just because you have a different view of what ‘control’ means doesn’t mean Raphael’s broken or needs fixing._

For a long moment, Leonardo had just gaped at Jocelyn, deeply shaken. Then he’d muttered something about needing to think on that and headed to his dojo, locking himself in. The ultimate result of that event was that Raph and Leo had a long talk with each other, concluding that they both needed to work on their tactics. 

Raph needed better control of himself when he was losing it, and Leo needed to figure out how to use his brother’s emotions to their advantage. And, eventually, it’d worked. Rather than working to keep Raphael calm, Leo now let him have his outbursts, even pushing his buttons if they needed it during combat. 

And that talk had had a secondary effect: Leo reexamined Mikey and Donnie, too, and started figuring out how to use _their_ natural inclinations better, as well. In the end the brothers had put their heads together and learned how to manipulate one another whenever they might need it, which was useful when they split into two teams (an increasingly common occurrence). 

All because Jocelyn saw Raphael’s anger as a tool rather than a broken gear, and she’d argued with Leo on the subject. 

“My point,” Raph continued, “is that even if you _do_ change, that’s fine. I’ll help ya learn to love yerself again.” 

Her eyes filled with tears and she threw herself at him, embracing him tight. Mumbling against his shoulder, she said, “I don’t deserve you…” 

God, hearing that was like being shot by Cupid all over again. Hugging her tight, he disagreed quietly, “No one deserves me more.” 

She gave a sharp squeak, hiding her face against him. It was the cutest thing – his sexy, wanton girlfriend was being _adorable_. And it was exactly how he knew he’d struck her in the heart; she only ever hid her face like that when he’d overwhelmed her with love. 

Suffice to say it was a rare occurrence, as she usually managed enough of her flirty nature to throw his comments right back at him. 

After a long moment she gave a shaky exhale, getting over her swell of emotion. Resting her cheek against him, she said, “You’re fuckin’ perfect, baby.” 

That had him grinning. “Nah, jus’ perfect for _you_ ,” he argued. 

“Uh, yeah, that’s what I meant,” she agreed. “I mean, who else matters? Just me,” she answered her own query, tossing her hair over her shoulder. 

_So arrogant_ , he thought, amused. Growling, he gave her a playful bite on the neck; she yelped and giggled, pushing at him. He wrestled with her for a moment, fighting to keep her in his arms while she tried to yank herself back, and eventually he won. Now she was sitting on his thigh with her back to him while he nuzzled along her shoulder, and she gave soft, approving hums as he did so. 

Then, sobering a bit, he commented, “Don’t worry about changin’. It won’t happen, an’ even if it did, it won’t change how much I love ya.” 

She was silent then, and when he looked, he found her with a content smile on her face, eyes closed. Basking, he thought; she was basking. Other than drawing up her legs to enfold herself further into his embrace, she didn’t move. 

_He_ didn’t feel like moving, either, so he secured his arms around her and dipped his head to kiss her neck. They stayed just like that for a long time, cuddling and wrapped in one another’s unfiltered love. 

All fears fell away, unimportant now.


	50. Obsessive Compulsions Diminished

**Rating:** R (swearing/sex/anatomy talk) 

* * *

* * *

* * *

Living with the turtles was surprisingly fun for Jocelyn. She liked how they fooled around, liked to hang around and watch them train, liked seeing firsthand just how tightly bound they were. It was eye-opening in the best way, showing her a level of sibling love she’d never seen before. 

Little by little she was growing closer with all of them, Splinter and April included. Hugs were a frequent, if not daily, activity for her now. And, yes, part of the reason she enjoyed giving hugs so much was because Raphael pouted _every damn time_. He was _such_ a little jealous baby, it was adorable. 

Between her job and her ballet, she didn’t have much downtime to just relax anymore. But that wasn’t much of a discouragement; she preferred being in motion to not, after all, so the workload was appreciated. With the ever-increasing presence of the mutagen in her veins, as well, every task was getting steadily easier to tackle. 

This showed up the most sharply during ballet classes, driving her to push herself ever further. In no time she was the most hard-working dancer in her school despite it being her first year – and, technically, just her summer course. At the end of the course she’d either be accepted or rejected, and she was determined to be accepted. 

She didn’t work her feet to the bone just to get turned away now. 

This meant, unsurprisingly, that she was spending more and more time in recovery at home. Raphael wasn’t happy about that, but to his credit he just whined a little and kept helping her relax after long days. Plus – _holy shit_ , his foot rubs were the _best!_ Honestly, bruising her toes were so worth it for those massages. 

Another bright side was Cassie joining the course just a few days after she had, the two of them doing their damnedest to be impressive. Sometimes, when they had downtime at class, they just goofed off together. They were making new friends in the process, their open and chill personalities drawing others. Soon Jocelyn had a slew of new contacts in her phone. 

That was good, because she was a pretty big socialite and so many of her graduate friends had gone elsewhere for college, some of whom had moved to a different country. She’d miss Ginger and Deirdre and Laura, along with plenty of others, but they’d made their choices. 

She’d made hers. 

Daily life was equal parts hectic and happy, especially so now that Lisa was more in contact as well. Having another girl in her life with whom she could openly talk was a great thing. 

Best of all, Jocelyn’s relationship with Cecilia was constantly strengthening despite the new distance. They couldn’t always meet every Monday anymore, but they made sure to at least keep in contact through texts. Every day, when she got home from work or class, Jo checked her phone to see if her mother had sent her any messages. 

Cecilia had…argued…when Jo declared she was moving in with Raphael, but that was far from a surprise. She even correctly guessed most of her mother’s concerns ahead of time, so she had answers prepared for that. With Raphael there, the two lovers had managed to calm Cecilia and assure her that everything would be fine. 

Honestly, the Lair was the safest place Jo could be – with its hidden location and high-tech security, it wasn’t like a burglar could break in at any time. And the guys and their father were so skilled and tough, even if some kind of break-in occurred, she knew very well she’d be safe the entire time. 

Hell, she could keep _herself_ safe by this point. Raphael had made sure of that. In fact, Jocelyn’s only worry anymore was Cecilia’s safety – without Jo there at the apartment, her mother had no guard, no defense. When their argument was over and done with, they both had a slew of conditions for the other – and one of Jocelyn’s was that Cecilia attend self-defense classes. 

Indefinitely. 

Later, Donnie did them one better: he made a pair of matching wristbands for mother and daughter. When he presented them to Jocelyn, she was confused at first. They weren’t exactly stylish, so she assumed they were functional, instead. What she didn’t know was _how_. 

“What’re these for?” she asked him. 

“They monitor heart rate and adrenaline,” he explained. Flipping her wrist up, he demonstrated by placing the inner side of the metal square of the band against her pulse. “You keep it right here and it monitors your system. If your heart rate and adrenaline go above a certain rate, it’ll start giving these little electric jolts.” 

Okay…? “Wait, why would it shock me?” she demanded. 

He answered, “So you can’t ignore it. Anyway, it keeps this up every two seconds for thirty seconds. If you’re safe and everything is fine, you press this,” he showed her, pressing in a button on the device until it _clicked_ audibly. “That turns it off for a half-hour. If you don’t press it, it sends an alert to my system and the tracker is activated.” 

….Holy shit, that was brilliant. She checked, “So it warns you if I’m in trouble, basically? Then tells you where I am?” 

“Exactly,” he agreed. “And because the tracker isn’t on 24/7, it shouldn’t be discovered by any scans. Outwardly, it just looks like [any other heart monitor](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fimg.staticbg.com%2Fthumb%2Fview%2Foaupload%2Fbanggood%2Fimages%2F6A%2F05%2F434b39fd-72b7-4ff5-93c0-eae680dfa5d7.jpg&t=MWQ3OWVjYWZmMTM1MzQ1NmU0Nzg0ZTJiYzQxOTg1NmVlYjdmZDE1YSw2akxXMlFudA%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F175185332599%2Fthe-dancer-part-47&m=0), the kind of thing you’d expect an athlete to wear,” he intoned with a self-satisfied grin. 

For a moment she was silent, impressed as hell. Then she said, “Hey, Don?” 

“Yeah?” he replied, slightly confused by the nickname. 

“You’re a fuckin’ genius,” she told him. 

He shifted awkwardly, smiling to himself. 

Then she asked, “So why’d you give me two?” 

“Second one’s for your mom,” he explained. “I’m making one for Lisa and Cassie, too, but I ran out of materials. It’ll be a little while.” 

Heartened, Jo jumped up to hug him around the neck, making him lean down to her height to accept it. “You’re the best,” she approved. 

Nearby, Raphael gave an angry huff. 

Letting go, she stuck her tongue out at her beau, correcting, “You’re the better-est.” 

He snorted at that. 

Later that night, he paid her back for her praising his brother by pinning her to the bed and growling as he nibbled all along her neck. _Such_ a big baby, she thought again, pleased. Then he proceeded to make love to her in a way that screamed _you’re mine, only mine_ and she freaking _loved_ every second of it. Teasing him had the _best_ rewards. 

In retaliation, she spent the entire next day planning on how to get him back, and by nightfall she had the _best_ game prepared for them. She had him so riled by the end that she got him to _scream_ when he came. Nothing beat that sound, that reward for all her hard work. 

God, she loved their back-and-forth power play more than anything else. 

It wasn’t too long after that particular sequence of events that she noticed something truly shocking: her OCD was…well, not gone, but definitely lessened. She realized it when she idly counted the number of nail polish bottles on her desk while selecting one and noticing for the first time that she had fourteen bottles…and no inclination to ‘fix’ it. 

A whole new wave of awareness had her scouring the entire room for objects, counting things and checking alignments between items. The conclusion: she hadn’t unconsciously ‘fixed’ anything in days, at least. Excited, she’d ran from the room to find Splinter – the boys were out on patrol, leaving just her and the rat – because she _really_ needed to talk about this. 

He was waiting in the alcove leading to his room, as if he’d been aware of her frantic desire to seek him out. She was so excited, in fact, that she soon felt a jolt from her wristband and had to click the button to make it stop. 

Not waiting for invitation, she sat down on the pillow, blurting, “Something amazing’s…like, I don’t even know how to start with this…” 

Splinter gave a soft chuckle. “Start at the beginning?” he offered. 

“I’m not counting!” she declared, shocked with herself. 

“Ah,” he nodded, “your OCD. I take it you mean it has lessened?” he checked. 

Nodding in sharp jerks, she rushed out, “I was just gonna paint my nails so I was going through the bottles and I started counting them and there’s _fourteen!_ It’s not a multiple of three – that’s never happened before, not since my dad died!” 

Thoughtful, Splinter offered, “Perhaps this means you have truly healed, or at least have begun down its path.” 

That…made a lot of sense. Still, she couldn’t quite just offhandedly believe it. “Or I’ve just been too exhausted to count,” she corrected. She _did_ spend almost all her downtime sitting or laying somewhere and letting her legs rest. 

“Hn? Is your life here so much more tiring than your life before?” he asked, doubtful. 

“Uh…well, no, not really,” she hedged. She was pushing herself harder than ever, but she wasn’t _more_ exhausted than she’d been the previous ten years. In fact, if she thought about it, she was _less_ so – largely because she was sleeping whole nights now, instead of two instances of three-to-five hours a day. 

Her energy and health were higher than it’d ever been with no sign of leveling out, leaving her feeling in perfect health _constantly_. 

Splinter was smiling now, and she was just familiar enough with him to recognize he was both pleased and amused. “I would think,” he said quietly, “that your heart had begun its path to recovery some time ago. You once told me your OCD was a result of your emotional instability,” he pointed out. “Now your emotions are stable again, yes?” 

Glancing down at her lap, she slowly started to grin. “Yeah,” she agreed lightly. “Everything’s…right again.” 

“I am glad,” he told her. Then, reaching out to lift her chin with a clawed hand, he said, “You and Raphael….you balance one another. I am very pleased you found each other.” 

“Me, too,” she murmured, feeling her eyes start to water. 

There was a moment of silence, Splinter smiling wider, before he seemed to sober a bit. Then, in a low voice, he added seriously, “Tell me, Jocelyn: do you intend to continue taking care of my son?” 

God, _yes_. Giving a fervent nod, she agreed, “I’d say ‘forever’, but that feels like a pitifully short amount of time.” 

“Good,” he commented quietly. “Now, I want you to vow it to me – and, when he returns, to him.” 

Her heart jumped up to a race at once, the moment growing heavier by the second. This sounded – well, like marriage vows, she thought. She’d thought of this before and concluded that there was no way she and Raphael could be legally wed – but that didn’t mean they couldn’t have a symbolic ceremony someday. 

She just wasn’t ready for such a thing yet. 

At first, pondering how to answer Splinter’s request, she was prepared to at least make a promise – instead, a thought occurred to her, and she said aloud, “I already have.” 

How many times had she told Raphael that she was here and would never leave? Well into a hundred by now, she was sure. Maybe Splinter hadn’t heard any of those vows, but they’d happened all the same. 

Splinter actually looked surprised by that. “Have you?” he checked. To his credit, he didn’t seem doubtful – just curious. 

“Many times,” she agreed with a nod. “Raphael…he’s told me a few times about his fears and loneliness, and I promised him I’d never leave. That I’d stay with him. He knows,” she assured the rat. 

Pleased, he sat back, smiling. “And,” he ventured, “has he returned the vow?” 

Grinning, she hinted, “Not with _words_ , but yes.” 

Raphael was still just a little bit too much of a coward to say the words aloud, but damn if he hadn’t sent the message loud and clear through actions. It’d been quite a while since the last such ‘conversation’, yet she could still feel the vibrations of his promises in her core. 

His body strength was impressive, it was true, but she’d found his emotions were stronger yet. 

Splinter looked thoughtful then, appraising and satisfied. “Good, good,” he nodded. “I apologize if I came off as officious, but I worry for my sons, you understand. I need to be certain they are always safe…in matters of the heart as well as of the mind and body.” 

Oh, she understood. After everything she’d seen in this family, she understood _very_ well – the five of them were always, always looking out for one another. They had the kind of bond you only saw in movies or read about in books, the kind of thing you never expected to see up close. 

She was truly honored to be considered part of such a family. 

“Well, you don’t have to worry about Raphael’s heart anymore,” she assured the old rat. “I’ll protect it till my dying breath…and after, if there’s anything waiting on the other side.” As a dedicated atheist, she’d never believed in such a thing as an afterlife, but she also accepted that the living would never truly know if another life waited afterwards. It was the nature of life, itself. She left room for the unknown, always. 

Content with her answer, Splinter smiled at her. “I could expect nothing more,” he told her. “Though if such a thing were possible, I wager you would achieve it.” 

She _almost_ blushed at that, grinning wide. “Or die trying,” she promised. 

He chuckled. “Yes, well, don’t try too hard,” he warned. “I prefer you live, if possible.” 

That got a laugh out of her. “Yeah, me, too. And, um…thanks for talking with me,” she said with a little bow she’d been learning to properly perform. 

It was weirdly difficult, though. 

When he bowed back, replying, “I am always here for you, my dear,” she was hit with a feeling of awe. Didn’t the guys say Splinter very rarely bowed back? That it was something of an incredible kind of privilege? She didn’t understand the dynamics of it – their ‘honor’ system was baffling sometimes – but she did recall her beau once telling her that Splinter had only ever bowed to _him_ the once. It had been, apparently, a very shocking moment for all four of them. 

Opting to talk to Raphael about it sometime later, she let it be for now, retreating back to their room to pick up where she’d left off. After all, they had a date tonight and she planned on being perfect for it – that included her nails being painted to match her outfit. And while she was busy with this, still a little dumbfounded over the way her life had turned, she was oblivious to what was going on with her lover at the same time…

* * *

More often than not, when the brothers split into teams of two, Raph ended up paired with Mikey. This was another such night, the duo sweeping through Queens and halting whatever crimes they encountered along the way. The citizens here were becoming familiar with the turtles, giving occasional waves and trinkets as gifts whenever the brothers could be caught long enough. 

Raph usually refused, not wanting to accept things like “my favorite necklace” or anything with the phrase, “It means a lot to me.” Mikey, on the other hand, was all too happy to take such gifts – which he usually returned with a hug and, if he had anything on him, a return gift. Two of the bracelets he wore were such presents. 

Tonight, as their patrol ended and they started back, Mikey kept looking at the keychain he’d been given. A little dangling pendant declared a glossy anime character Raph didn’t recognize – he doubted Mikey did, either. The elder brother could already guess what was going to happen next: at some point, Mikey was going to give it to Lisa. 

The boy _loved_ trinkets and every facet therein: collecting, giving, and receiving. There was no way Lisa _wasn’t_ going to have it forced into her hands. 

This actually amused the hell out of Raphael, imagining Lisa trying to refuse the gift only to get plowed over by Mikey’s (admittedly powerful) puppy eyes. And he would have remained amused the whole way home, if not for Mikey stopping him for a chat. 

The opening line from the smaller boy almost got him flattened in one swing: “Hey, Raph? …Tell me about sex with Jo.” 

Raph’s knee-jerk reaction was to knock Mikey on his ass. He barely stopped the impulse, forcing himself to not start swinging. After a pause, gathering some measure of self-control, he bit out, “I’m gonna assume you didn’t mean you want tips on how to fuck my woman.” 

It took Mikey a second to realize how his comment had sounded; then, appalled, he waved his hands defensively. “No, no, I didn’t! I just…hang on, let me start over,” he said. 

Crossing his arms, Raph waited for a better explanation. His only guess was that this had something to do with Lisa – but, then, _everything_ Mikey talked about these days had to do with Lisa. The brothers had sat through literal hours of Mikey rambling off at the mouth about his ‘cute, lovely, sweet, perfect’ girlfriend. 

It was aggravating as hell. _Raph_ hadn’t done that with Jocelyn; he’d known better. But Mikey? 

Mikey was too excited to control his mouth at the best of times, let alone when he was running off a high after having just left Lisa. 

Thoughts apparently gathered, the younger boy explained, “I’m just kinda worried about sex ‘n stuff. I wanna do it right, y’know?” 

Raph pondered on that for a moment, then ventured, “So, the two of you’re physical now?” 

“Uh, well, no,” Mikey confessed with a wince. “I just…wanna be prepared. Wanna treat her right, y’know?” 

That was good on multiple levels – mostly because Raph was a jealous type and, yes, thinking his little brother had already breached that threshold so soon after getting his first girlfriend while Raph had waited _months_ had almost spawned a sore spot. 

He was glad they hadn’t gotten that far yet. His sense of superiority was a bit too fragile to survive such a blow. 

After a pause, he replied, “Okay, so…whadaya wanna know?” If he sounded awkward right then, it’s because he was; this conversation wasn’t one he’d ever wanted to have. But, well, he _was_ the elder brother with greater experience. It was part of his responsibilities to ensure his younger brother didn’t royally fuck up. 

Mikey offered, “Uh, I dunno? Like, what’s different? Anything I need to pay attention to?” 

“Aside from ya girl in general?” Raph teased, the comment a painfully transparent self-calming tactic. “Uh, lemme think…” he began, quickly making a little checklist in his head. When he snagged on the first subject, he couldn’t look at his brother; his gaze wandered off the building towards the horizon as he started, “First, it’s gonna be hard…gettin’ inside her. Gotta take it slow, be careful.” 

Whatever reaction Mikey had, Raph didn’t see it, but his brother replied, “Well, _yeah_ , I mean…that part’s obvious. For everyone.” Then, lower, “‘Specially me…” 

Raph did _not_ want to hear about his brother’s dick. He quickly disagreed, “S’not about the size…well, not entirely. The…the shape makes it hard, too. So ya gotta be really gentle with it.” More to himself, he added, “For everyone’s sake.” 

Trying to go too fast had hurt his poor extremity more than once before. He winced recalling it. Those events were a great way to ruin the moment, and to her credit, Jocelyn had never laughed about it. She’d just given him comfort until the pain went away. 

She’d _almost_ laughed about it the last time, though. It’d taken her a moment to compose herself. 

Mikey was silent for a while, considering that, before asking, “Anything else?” 

Oh, god, was there _ever_. Raph rubbed his eyes, his embarrassment rising by the second. He had to force out the next bit of advice: “After, uh…after yer done…it goes away quick, so you gotta make sure yer done with it first.” A hesitant second passed, and then he went on with mounting difficulty, “But there’s a trick…if you keep goin’, it won’t go away, but it gets super sensitive, too…” 

Mikey interrupted with a sharp snort. “I already knew _that,”_ he said. 

Wait, what? For the first time since the conversation started, Raph pinned a look on his little brother; at the moment, Mikey was just relaxed and kind of impassive. 

Raphael demanded, “You _knew_ that?” A nod was his response; he snapped, _“How?”  
_

Shrugging, Mikey answered, “Experimented with masturbating a couple times. Kept it going all afternoon once–” 

“Yeah yeah yeah!” Raph blurted, wishing he could scrub his brain of this particular memory. As he tilted his head back to gaze upwards for patience, he heard Mikey giggle, and it made everything worse. Great, the youngest thought this was hilarious… 

Getting back on track, he went on, “Anyway, yer gonna wanna bite her. A lot. Don’t let it surprise you,” he advised. “I found giving hickies helps a lot with that.” 

Mikey considered that for a moment, then said, “Yeah, I don’t wanna bite her…it’d hurt, y’know?” 

“Then soothe your instincts with hickies–” 

“Those hurt too, though, right?” Mikey interrupted. 

A point. Jocelyn didn’t mind; she loved his biting, his hickies, the bruises he sometimes left behind. But that was her, not Lisa – Raph could guess the white girl didn’t like the same stuff. From what he knew of her, she’d avoid pain however possible. 

Yeah, best not to encourage Mikey to give her hickies, then. 

“They _can,”_ Raph replied after a moment. “If yer worried, then just…just kiss her. You can do _that_ without hurting her, right?” he added teasingly. 

Mikey rolled his eyes. 

Dropping that subject, Raphael moved on to the next: “Then there’s your strength. Watch yourself – an’ watch _her_. She’ll let ya know if yer goin’ too far.” 

After a pause, Mikey asked, “What if I _do_ go too far? What do I do?” 

“Stop,” Raph told him. “Ask how she feels. Don’t push for more – don’t make demands. Just help her relax. Do what ya gotta do. Doesn’t matter if yer not done yet…just forget it. She’s more important,” he finished, adrift in thought. 

Right then, he was speaking from experience – he’d lost it and hurt Jocelyn before, and to this day he still kicked himself over it. But even though he’d been aroused to the point of shaking with need, he’d stopped and attended to her. It’d taken a long time for him to recover from that, longer even than it’d taken for _her_ to recover, but he’d ignored that. 

Because Jocelyn was more important than getting off. 

Mikey was quiet for a long moment, watching Raph with a worried expression. He’d picked up on Raph’s emotions, apparently, and the older boy promptly changed the subject to avoid having to go into detail. 

“That about covers the big stuff,” he declared, “everything else is just you learning what Lisa likes…and what _you_ like, for that matter. You’ll get it, little bro, you’re empathic.” 

Nodding, Mikey agreed, “Yeah, figured that one out a long time ago.” Then, after a moment of thought, he asked with a wince, “What if I do something stupid and embarrass myself?” 

Raph was _not_ about to admit that he’d done such things before. Instead, he shrugged, replying, “Laugh it off. It happens.” 

A stunned second passed. Then Mikey blurted, “What, really?” 

“Yeah, really,” Raph nodded. “Shit happens, in and out of bed. Sometimes it ruins the moment. Let it go,” he advised. “You don’t always gotta cross the finish line. Just try not to repeat it next time.” As Mikey thought on that, Raph went on, “Laugh it off if _Lisa_ does something embarrassing, too. Let her know it’s okay.” 

This was especially imperative, Raph thought, given what he knew of Lisa. Oh yeah, she was easily embarrassed and, he guessed, the type to obsess over her mistakes. Mikey would definitely need to fight that to get her to relax over bed-related slip-ups. 

Wincing, Mikey said, “She’d be devastated if she messed up somehow,” realizing it now that Raph had pointed it out. 

“Which is why,” Raph told him, “you gotta make sure she knows it’s okay. Don’t let her obsess over it. Chuckle about it, brush it off, move on. Fight if you gotta.” 

Nodding, fully serious now, Mikey commented, “I can do that.” 

“…Make your own, bigger mistake if she won’t let it go,” Raph said, thinking about it. “Then tell her you’ll forgive her ‘oops’ as soon as she forgives yours. Stuff like that.” 

That made Mikey laugh. “Okay, I can _definitely_ do that.” 

“Never doubted it,” Raph replied dryly. 

Mikey gave him the “up yours” arm motion. Chuckling, Raph shook his head, thinking that by now they’d covered everything that could be covered _before_ any sex happened. Not that he was going to be having _any_ sort of post-sex conversations, but still. 

Then a final thought came to the surface, and Raph quickly voiced it: “Oh, yeah, one more thing…it’s possible…Lisa might like the way you, uh… _taste_.” 

Confused, Mikey checked, “How I taste…? Whadaya mean?” 

Awkward as hell, Raph ventured, “Yer, uh…yer….” He paused, thinking of a dozen different terms, before finishing bluntly, “…cum.” 

There was a pause; then Mikey blurted, “Hang on, _what?”_

Shrugging, going for a nonchalant attitude in this most awkward of topics, Raph explained, “Jocelyn says it tastes good. She likes it. Might be a turtle thing, a mutagen thing, I dunno. But Lisa might like it, too. Just…just so you know.” 

Oh, god, that’d been hard to voice. And now he was looking off into the distance again, unwilling to see how Mikey was reacting to that. 

Then, jubilant, Mikey crowed, “Well, of _course_ she’s gonna like my ‘taste’ – I’m her living, breathing full-size Orange Crush!” 

Rolling his eyes, Raph shoved Mikey over, snapping, “Not everyone likes that drink, ya know.” 

“Lisa does!” Mikey declared, hopping right back up. “I mean she said her favorite is Sunny D, but still – wait up, hey! _Raph!”_

The bigger boy was already sprinting off, fully done with this conversation, leaving Mikey to trail after him with a slew of annoyed comments and complaints. He didn’t have much time left to spare, anyway; he had a date set up for tonight. It’d been over a month since the last time he could take Jocelyn out for some alone time, after all, so he desperately wanted this. 

It’d been hard to come up with a date idea, as he’d just about exhausted all the good ones by now, but he thought he’d set up a great one anyway. He just had to get home, snatch up his lover, and get them there. 

No problem. Plus, the date would have a useful side effect: getting this talk with Mikey out of his damn head. He’d be damned if he was going to let it haunt his memories on tonight of all nights.


	51. Dirty Dancing

**Rating:** R(swearing, sexual references)

* * *

* * *

* * *

When Raphael made it home to collect his lover, he found her in their room, applying lip gloss at her desk. And the sight of her had him stopping dead in his tracks.

As usual, [**she was breathtaking**](https://78.media.tumblr.com/f9a2c3cde2d4f02756e52fbd12f5d0b1/tumblr_p2j2mvyuEz1wtuqpio10_r1_1280.png) – a flowing white halter dress, slip-on white heels; she’d even put on a pair of elbow-high silk gloves. He hadn’t even known she owned any of that. He should probably go through her stuff at some point, if only to lessen the shock of seeing her all trussed up in something new.

But the thing that had him frozen in place was her _hair._ She’d straightened it somehow – not completely, but enough to impress just how long and thick it was. It normally hung to her lower back; now it was trailing along her thighs. The loose curls, so opposed to her usual mass of tight ones, left him stunned. He honestly couldn’t decide which style he liked better…

He could see as well she’d put in a pair of braids at the sides of her head again, the tresses covering half her ears and pulled back in a pretty, large, white and oval-shaped barrette at the back of her head.

As she noticed him, snapping her lip gloss closed, she commented, “Perfect timing. I just finished.”

Whether she was oblivious to his stun or just being merciful, he couldn’t tell; either way, her nonchalant reaction was helpful. He was _almost_ recovered by the time she got to her feet and did a spin for him, letting him see her all the more clearly.

Her loose skirts billowed out as she went, and he noticed her fluff her hair as she did so, too. Grinning, she asked, “What do you think?”

“Can’t,” he choked out.

Chuckling, she crossed over to him, running those smooth gloves up his arms to his neck. It felt _great_ , sending his mind spiraling right to the gutter – wondering how those gloves would feel elsewhere.

“Does that mean you’re pleased with me?” she teased.

He pulled her against him, replying thickly, “Yer gorgeous.”

She smirked. “Oh, I know,” she agreed lightly.

He snorted. That was his Jocelyn, all right; she never was one to titter or blush when complimented. Oh, no – she knew how lethal her looks were and she damn well flaunted it.

He’d struck gold with her.

Leaning in, he gave her a quick kiss, then purred, “Ya ready for this?”

The excitement in her eyes said _yes_. “Always am, baby,” she replied, mimicking his low tone.

 _Fuck_ , that got to him. They had to get to their date _now_ – or else they wouldn’t be leaving this room tonight. 

Not that he would’ve minded staying in, really, but it’d be so long since they could go out for a private date… He missed having her all to himself, far from prying eyes and unwilling eavesdroppers.

The only downside was the fact that he felt horribly underdressed compared to her, but, hell, she’d never complained before. He doubted she’d start now.

Taking her hand, he led her from the room. Once they reached the Lair, one by one his brothers glanced at them, only to do a double-take once they spotted the elegant, classically beautiful woman at his side. With her adorable pearls and knee-length dress, she could’ve stepped right out of the fifties.

Not for the first time, he found himself thinking she could’ve been a movie star from another era.

Puffed up with pride, Raph just smirked as they headed out, more than a little arrogant right then. Even little Mikey, besotted as he was with Lisa, had given Jocelyn a lingering stare. In fact, it had lingered just long enough that if it’d lasted a moment longer, Raph might’ve punished him for it.

Not right now, though – right now, they had a schedule to keep.

Once they were in the sewers, though, he found himself concerned with her delicate heels. Not wanting them to get all dirty, he swept Jocelyn up into his arms; she laughed as she went, coming to link her arms around his neck.

“Chivalry’s a little extra today, I see,” she commented.

“Yer shoes are nice, don’t want ‘em to get messed up,” he told her.

She pecked his jaw. “Sweetheart,” she chided with a grin.

He grinned right back, pleased with the assessment. It was kind of funny, though – a few months ago he would’ve argued with her. A few months ago he would’ve done anything to save face, even rejecting his lover’s compliments.

Now, he soaked them up.

Their path took them to the surface and then up, up, up to the top of a skyscraper. By now he wasn’t worried about her feeling cold, though; the mutagen had started doing its thing for her, too. The cold didn’t bother her anymore. She just held on while he climbed the building, her hair and skirt tossed by the winds.

At the top of this building was a very particular setup, assembled at the start of the night’s patrol and waiting to be utilized: a laptop (courtesy of Donnie) on a crate with external speakers, and a pair of beanbags (they were easy to carry and accommodated his shell well). Dinner was to be delivered to them in a half-hour.

For now, he had a little treat for Jocelyn.

She gave him a suspicious look as she took in everything, tilting her head. He just gestured the seats.

“Sit with me?” he suggested, easing onto one of the beanbags.

Chuckling, she followed him, crossing her ankles. “What’s in store for me this time?” she mused.

Figuring that question was rhetorical, he just leaned forward towards the laptop. A few taps with his fingers had a movie starting, the DVD already loaded and ready to go.

Music started as the screen revealed slow-motion dancing. Jocelyn recognized it in a heartbeat, sitting up at attention as her eyes widened. Then, grinning, visibly touched, she started singing with the song.

[ _The night we met I knew I needed you so_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QevM60eI-rg)   
[ _And if I had the chance I’d never let you go_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QevM60eI-rg)   
[ _So won’t you say you love me_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QevM60eI-rg)   
[ _I’ll make you so proud of me_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QevM60eI-rg)   
[ _We’ll make them turn their heads every place we go_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QevM60eI-rg)

Pleased, Raphael watched her, glad that she was so happy with his surprise. He didn’t much care for the film, himself, but he knew it was one of her favorites. It was old-timey, all things considered, but it strongly featured a coming-of-age story tied in with dancing _without_ being a musical – and it clearly resonated with Jocelyn.

This movie – _Dirty Dancing_ – along with _Girls Just Want To Have Fun_ were the two he’d noticed she watched most. There were times, while she practiced, that either movie or its soundtrack would be playing in the background; there were other times when he saw her lip-syncing the entire film, start to finish.

Once, she’d commented that she’d had serious crushes on Jeff and Johnny – the main male protagonists of both movies – then speared Raphael with a look and added, “I wonder if there’s a theme, here?”

Raph couldn’t _visibly_ blush, but he’d sure felt his face heat then. Jeff and Johnny were both “bad boys” – big, tough types who got into fights during their respective films and were athletically-inclined. They each showed the lead female a side of life they’d never known but had always craved. They were also quickly smitten with the female leads, he’d noted, and utterly devoted. He could see the “theme”, all right.

But he’d also noticed that the female leads in both movies were tall-ish young women with massively curly hair. It was no wonder Jocelyn loved these two films so much; she saw herself in the women (during a time when black protagonists were hard to find) – and now she saw Raphael in the men. Plus, he’d found she had a notable weakness for straight-up romantic shit, and the movies scratched that particular itch for her.

Which was why he had another surprise waiting for the climax of the film…

Overall, he didn’t much care for the movie. He half-watched it, mostly just listening, while keeping his eyes on his lover. As it played on, every so often Jocelyn would glance at him, eyes betraying how much she was enjoying herself. That look convinced him that it didn’t matter how much or how little they had in common – what mattered was that they enjoyed the time they spent together.

At one point, though, she began, hesitant, “If this is boring for you–”

“M’not bored,” he interrupted. She looked doubtful, so he reached over, petting her neck, and explained, “I like watchin’ you. ‘Specially when you’re watchin’ somethin’ you love.”

She grinned wide, looking away, but he still caught the blush coloring her cheeks. _Yep, there it is,_ he thought. Apparently his comment – which he felt was just straight honest – was really romantic to her.

By now Raphael had half-heard this film so many times he probably had it memorized, despite not really being into it. As far as sacrifices went, though, it was a lesser one, so he didn’t mind.

Then she twisted around and crossed over from her seat to his, coming to straddle him. When she leaned in, target clear, he eagerly accepted her kiss, instantly pleased by the feel of her. Her straightened hair cascaded over her shoulders, draping along his arms, and it stole a thread of his awareness – wondering just how long it was. It wasn’t fully straight, but it was still down below her hips.

Sexy.

He couldn’t resist running his fingers through her hair, even as he broke the kiss to comment, “Yer missin’ the movie…”

“Mm,” Jocelyn agreed lightly, “but I’m getting something better…”

 _Fuck,_ that got him going. It was hard to resist her mounting affections, going back in to kiss and nip along his neck as her nails started to _scritch, scritch_ his sides. Knowing her as well as he did by now, he was fully aware of what that signal meant – and turning her down was the hardest thing he could’ve done right then.

Alas, he had dinner scheduled to arrive soon and the last thing he wanted was Leo – the delivery boy for this particular event – catching them mid-fuck. And so, with difficulty, he mustered up the will to stop this ball before it could get rolling.

“Hey, babe,” he groaned, “ya gotta stop now…”

She whined, though she lifted her head to regard him with a pout. “Stop?” she echoed. “That’s just cruel. It’s been, like, a week since we last fooled around…”

Oh, he knew. With her job and schooling cutting into their couple time, intimacy had become more rare – but on the bright side, it also became more _loving_. They’d gone from “fooling around” a few times a week to just once, if that, and it resulted in their lovemaking becoming all the more appreciated.

There was a certain anticipation now that’d been absent before – unsure when their next tryst would be, they learned to savor what they had when they could have it and enjoyed the waiting in between.

And right now they needed to wait just a bit longer.

Reaching up to stroke her cheek, Raph promised, “Won’t be long now. Trust me.”

She gave him the side-eye, suspicious, her mind obviously trying to puzzle this out. But she relented all the same, giving a dramatic sigh as she flopped over onto her beanbag again.

“It’s rude to keep a lady waiting for long,” she reminded him.

He grinned. “Good thing yer more than just a lady, then,” he commented.

Smirking, she gave him a sharp glance. “Oh? And what else am I?” she demanded.

 _Mine,_ he thought, though he forced it down. Now wasn’t the time to get possessive. Instead, he answered, “A dancer…a domme…a _femme fatale_ …”

She grinned at the last one.

Then he finished, “A fuckin’ perfect woman.”

Chuckling, she reached out, ghosting her fingers along his jaw. “You tell me to wait, then you torment me for it. How dare you,” she pouted.

“Anticipation makes it better,” he told her.

She tisked. “Very true.”

“Watch yer movie,” he directed, grasping her chin to turn her face back towards the screen, then using his grip to pet her cheek and neck. “Trust in yer man,” he added a little more quietly.

And Jocelyn, smiling, reached up to his hand, caught it, and placed a kiss on his palm.

He _immediately_ started churring.

* * *

As far as dates went, Jocelyn had to admit that this wasn’t quite as good as the stuff Raphael usually put together – which was why she was so suspicious of what came next. There was no way that a private viewing of _Dirty Dancing_ was the whole of it; the question now was what else he had waiting.

Not that she wasn’t enjoying herself, of course, but she knew very well how over-the-top her lover could be. She was expecting a lot more.

She got the first hint when they were deep into the film; he suddenly sat up, saying, “Dinner’s here.”

Wait, what?

She whipped around to view the rest of the rooftop, quickly spotting a plastic bag with containers within behind her. Where had _that_ come from? A little dumbfounded, she demanded, “Delivery? Okay, who agreed to that and what did he want in return?”

Chuckling, Raphael retrieved the bag, answering, “Leo – and he wanted us out of the Lair for the night.”

Well, that was going to be easy to fulfill, she thought, admiring her man (and the flexing of his muscles) as he swooped up the bag and returned to his seat. She was _determined_ to have him all to herself for the rest of the night.

His massive thigh became a table for the contents as he tore apart the knotted bag – the logo declaring Panda Express – and handed her a container. At first whiff, she couldn’t quite tell what was within; opening it, she found a heaping pile of orange chicken and white rice. Her mouth started watering.

Glancing over, she couldn’t name what Raph had in _his_ box. “What’chu got there?” she asked with a jerk of her chin.

“Chow mein, fried rice, teriyaki chicken, and honey walnut shrimp,” he answered.

She only saw the noodles and shrimp in that container, though – then her eyes snagged on a _third_ box still in the remains of the bag. _Oh._

“And,” she pressed, circling her finger in the direction of the boxes, “how much of all this is _mine?”_

She expected him to make a smart remark; instead, he gave the perfect answer:

“Much as you want, babe.”

Son of a _bitch_ , she loved him.

They dug in then, her using a fork while he broke out a pair of chopsticks. She couldn’t help commenting, annoyed, “Can I just say how unfair it is that you can use those so well and I can’t when I have more fingers than you?”

He laughed. “I could teach you,” he offered, clacking the chopsticks in her direction.

She scoffed. “Yeah, like I haven’t tried before? I can’t do it, sadly. My fingers aren’t dexterous enough.”

He gave her a look, measuring, then snapped his box closed, put it aside, and gestured her over. “C’mere, babe,” he directed, giving her a gentle lead by moving her arm towards him.

Shrugging, she did so, setting her own container aside and following his lead. Once her had her where he wanted her – in his lap; one of her favorite places, to be honest – he retrieved her box again. Then, guiding her, he put the chopsticks in her hand.

She wanted to sigh with exasperation, but for his sake she figured she’d give it a shot. Still, she warned, “If I get a bunch of food on my nice, white dress…”

“Could always take it off,” he suggested.

 _Naughty boy._ She sent him a smirk, legitimately considering it.

What followed was an almost-hilarious sequence of repetition. True to her statement, Jocelyn had the hardest time getting the chopsticks to work right; they kept slipping and snapping closed, even with her beau’s hand over hers to guide her. She kept her container in her lap the entire time, the lid against her chest, to catch falling rice and chicken; it succeeded in keeping any splatter off her nice, pristine dress.

After a while of this, Raphael gave up and instead just started feeding her with the chopsticks. That made her _much_ happier and she gladly accepted it. And it gave her the desire to return the favor, but she felt doing it with her fork would be significantly less romantic.

She made a little mental note to practice with the chopsticks during her free time in the future.

Soon the food was gone, the pair of them experimenting with the three entrees and sides until everything had been devoured (unsurprisingly, Raphael had easily polished off two of the boxes). By then Jocelyn was feeling extremely content, relaxing into her lover as the film played on. It was comfortable, their hands idly trailing over each other as Johnny and Baby experienced their romance.

She couldn’t help lip-syncing some of the lines, the act an involuntary show of love for the movie. Honestly, this was a fantastic surprise; it’d been well over a year since she’d last sat down to actually watch it. Usually it was either playing in the background as she practiced, or she only caught a few minutes of it here or there while busy with other things.

Then, as [**the climax of the movie**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Dl9BbUqHrWFI&t=MGFjMDZlYmIyNWM2NDYwYTcyNThiZDA0MWI2NGFmMGU1YzMxYjc5MixndDU3SnR1Zg%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F175450409349%2Fthe-dancer-part-48&m=0) started, her lover pulled another surprise, starting with him murmuring the iconic line, “Nobody puts Baby in the corner,” in her ear as Johnny said it.

She could have squealed, the overly romantic gesture filling her with butterflies. But the best was yet to come.

As soon as Johnny’s speech was over, Raphael guided her off him and to her feet. Her heart was already racing, excited over the prospect of what could possibly come next – what he _knew_ would delight and seduce her – and her thoughts proved correct.

At first he just moved off to the side, as if distracted – then he turned to face her and crooked a finger at her…exactly the way Johnny did in the movie at that very second.

Oh, god. This was too much.

Jocelyn had this scene – this famous dance – memorized. She often danced to it while it played, eying the screen and pretending she had an invisible partner. She did the same for the final dance sequence in Girls Just Want To Have Fun, but the difference between the two – namely that the latter included gymnastics – meant Jo couldn’t fully emulate it.

She could _not_ do flips, but she could dance Baby and Johnny’s dance.

Apparently, so could Raphael.

As it began, Jo staying in place because that’s what Baby did during the scene, she found herself wondering when and how her beau had practiced this. He couldn’t have had a partner – she could just imagine how violently his brothers would refuse this, how mercilessly they’d torment him for even suggesting it – so he must’ve been working on it alone.

How long had it taken him? How long had he been practicing? Considering his ninja training, had it even taken more than a day?

These thoughts fled, replaced with warmth and appreciation, as soon as the dance began. Mimicking the movie’s motions – not that either of them were watching anymore – Raphael started to lead Jocelyn through the steps.

In a way, it felt kind of ridiculous. Her big, bad boyfriend, dancing a salsa-mambo-ballet combo…oh, if his brothers could see him now…

But that was the crux of this, wasn’t it? It was personal, just between them – just for _her_ enjoyment. Though he kept giving her the same deep, steamy looks Johnny gave Baby during this dance, she knew two things outright: Raphael didn’t care about the dance, itself…

…and his looks weren’t acted.

Every last second delighted her. Every twist, every step, even the way her dress fanned out during the spins, so perfectly mimicking Baby’s own… This was the single most romantic thing she’d ever been given, and considering he’d all but overwhelmed her more than once before, that was saying something.

And it was how she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he loved her more than anything: he was giving her something he didn’t particularly like, just because it was something _she_ loved.

Then came Johnny’s solo part, and Jo couldn’t help laughing as her lover continued on. She wondered if she should tell him that Patrick Swayze had been a ballet dancer, that he’d incorporated a few ballet moves into his solo. What would he do, she wondered, if she informed him that the seven-twenty spin was a straight-up ballet move?

She could just imagine his dumbfounded look.

Then, finally, he stopped and gave her a silent look of invitation. _The lift._

A year ago, Jocelyn wouldn’t have done it. She couldn’t have trusted him – or anyone else, herself included – to not drop her. A year ago, she was Baby before falling for Johnny.

Today, she was in-love Baby.

Without hesitation, she sprinted towards her beau, leaping directly into his grasp. And he caught her, lifted her, and she pretended that the cheering she heard from the laptop was an actual audience. Imagining that – dancing with Raphael on a stage in front of thousands – almost left her aching from want.

Oh, to show the world what she had – to brazenly declare her love for him in direct view of the public…to show the shocked masses of the world how perfect of a man she had, how he was _hers_ and hers alone…

She could have cried, she wanted it so bad.

For now, though, she would satisfy her wants by showing _him_ her love. Decided, she looked down at him from above, grinning; he was grinning, too. When he lowered her again – slowly, so slowly, letting her drift down his chest – she cinched her arms around his neck, refusing to let go.

Swimming in delight, she commented, “You supremely corny motherfucker.”

He laughed. “Ya liked my surprise?” he checked.

He knew damn well that she had. Yet a little worry at the edges of his gaze told her he hadn’t been fully confident about this. He was truly making sure she was happy with him, she realized.

_Sweetheart._

She kissed him in answer. “Couldn’t love it more,” she confirmed on a purr. “God, you make me so happy…” she added more quietly, admiring him.

When they’d gotten together, she never would have imagined _tonight_ being in their future. She could barely accept it now, the moment feeling ethereal – more dream than reality. A part of her kept trying to deny the events that had just taken place, telling her that there was just _no way…_

But it had. Her still-racing heart, overflowing with emotion, was proof of that.

By now she was ignoring the movie – a shock, that – as her mind seized on a single thought, refusing to budge: she needed to make love to him.

For once, though, she didn’t feel the need to be extra sexy. She didn’t want to have sex out in the open where anyone might see. The prospect didn’t arouse her like it would normally. Instead, she wanted privacy.

She wanted to go somewhere to be alone with him, somewhere only _they_ existed.

“Take me home,” she whispered.


	52. Entwined Hearts

**Rating:** XXX (sexxx)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Panting breaths and pleased moans filled the subway car room, the lovers’ clothing long since divested to allow for freedom of exploration. Jocelyn lay back on the gigantic bed, compliments and praise falling from her lips as Raphael thoroughly journeyed her curves with hands and mouth. 

“Oh, that’s so good, baby…mmmn…you feel so good – ah! Oh, my god, who taught you–” A soft gasp cut off her tirade, her man’s skilled fingers swiftly making it impossible to form words. 

Seriously, he was plucking a bundle of nerves she hadn’t known she _had_ , practically playing her like a harp. First with fingers, then with his mouth, he teased and toyed with a sweet spot just to the side of her knee. Where had he learned to do _that?_

As soon he brought his teeth into the equation, starting to nip and nibble as he tested his newest find, she stopped caring _how_ he’d discovered this trick. Whatever. Didn’t matter. 

Time sped up. He had her squirming and sweating and _begging_ before long, her body aching from how empty she felt. She wanted – _needed_ – him inside her, but still he played. 

To his credit, everything Raphael did was a steady increase; from petting to sucking to fingering, he continuously aroused and pleasured her. By now he knew her so well that he could do this blindfolded with both hands tied behind his back – and, truthfully, he had. More than once. 

But, then, so had _she_. Their games were a lot of fun like that. 

Now, however, she’d had enough of foreplay and waiting. 

“Quit teasin’ me,” she groaned. “It’s enough – get up here…” She pulled on him as she spoke, lifting his face out from between her legs and dragging her nails over his shoulders. 

His expression then _slayed_ her – a mixture of haughtiness, appreciation and excitement. Oh, yes, she noted, he was ready for more, too. 

Yet, as he crawled up her body, he commented, “Needin’ me that bad, princess?”

 _Princess?_ her mind echoed with disbelief. Oh, that little fucker! He’d just traded one form of teasing for another! 

Fighting off a wave of humor, she growled out, “You know damn well I am. Now, quit makin’ me wait,” she ordered, looping her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips, tucking her feet under his shell. She purred, “Make love to me.” 

Something sparked to life in his eyes – another shot of love, perhaps? She wouldn’t doubt it; for as much as her baby loved dirty talk, he also had an incredible weakness for _romantic_ talk, too. 

Telling him to fuck her silly would get him riled in a heartbeat, but telling him to _make love_ to her made him turn tender and go slow. This was intentional on her part; she didn’t want hard and fast and bed-shaking pounding. She wanted deep and thorough and just to _feel_ him – until dawn, if she could stay conscious that long. 

He did as bade then, showing her a level of gentleness they rarely shared. He kissed her first, so lightly she could only just feel it – and, somehow, that light brushing of lips seemed more potent than their deepest, nastiest makeout sessions. 

Then – oh, _then_ she felt it, felt him position his cock and start working it inside. Every little shift and press on his part was a sensual delight, sending the tiniest thrills through her. In this quiet, intimate moment – punctuated only by their breaths, their hearts, their joining – it felt more real to her than anything else had ever been. 

She gave his lips a quick lick as he steadily dove inside, her walls eagerly taking his girth. It stung and burned a little, but, well, that’s what happens when one’s lover is as _gifted_ as he was. He usually prepared her a little better than this; this time she’d been too demanding to let him. 

That was fine, though. She didn’t mind. If anything, she liked it – liked the little twinges of pain. It added a delicious spice to the act, one she almost lamented she knew would fade in time. 

Raphael was oh, so gentle with her, each delve shallow and slow. And it was incredible, taking him a quarter inch at a time; it was so… _real_ , filling her with a mind-numbing level of sensation. It was everything she needed right then, sending her mind spiraling back to their first time – technically, their _third_ time. 

He’d been so slow and gentle with her then, too, and to her hyper-sensitive, abused body, it’d still almost been too much. Now, however, they were just getting started. She could last for hours at this pace and never need a break. 

She hoped he would, too. 

Making love like this, so juxtaposed to their normal fucking, was already working her up and he wasn’t even fully inside her yet. Her breathing seemed to deepen with every thrust, her moans sounding lustier than usual even to her own ears. It was just…so _good,_ the way he stretched and filled her, and taking him so damn slowly was driving that point home harder than ever before. 

Groaning, Jo murmured, “Uhn, baby, you’re perfect…” 

A quiver went through him. “Yeah? Perfect, how?” he prompted, starting to nuzzle against her neck. 

His ultra-slow thrusting never faltered, she noted with a little smile. “In every way,” she told him, giving a soft gasp at his next dive. Catching his gaze, she saw the hunger, the affection, the _need_ in him. 

Her body responded to the sight, her pussy clamping down on him as her nails dug into his skin. 

He shuddered, her reaction hitting him hard. Taking a ragged breath – regaining control, she thought – he growled out, “Tell me exactly. Give me details.” 

Well, wasn’t he the biggest praise whore alive? She had no complaints about that, though; she loved telling him all the ways he pleased her – and watching his pride and need for her grow as she did so. 

Her body started undulating of its own accord, meeting him thrust for thrust, as she purred out, “Perfect….eyes. Perfect voice. Perfect heart. Perfect legs, perfect arms….perfect lips.” Her gaze fell on that mouth as she spoke, eating up their shape and color. “Perfect for _my_ lips, tailored to kiss me and only me…” 

As if drawn in by an irresistible force, he ducked his head down to capture her mouth. It was a sweet kiss, a kind of promise in the way he sucked just a little bit so she couldn’t break away. For the first time, his hips stilled, a hand coming to cup and stroke her neck as he took his time thrilling her with lips and tongue. 

_Patience_ wasn’t one of Jocelyn’s strongest features at that moment – his cock felt so good, and it was so close to hitting home – but she was totally enraptured by his kiss right then. She was all too happy to return the affection, humming happily in approval. 

When the kiss finally ended, voice rough, he murmured, “I like that.” 

Curious, she checked, “The fact that we have the perfect kiss?” 

He smiled. “That, too…but I more meant that _we’re_ perfect. You for me, me for you.” 

A whole wealth of emotion was banked in his eyes right then, so much and so deep she was afraid to get too close – lest she fall in and drown. 

_Okay, enough of the corny thoughts,_ she chided herself. Bringing a hand up to his cheek to stroke him, she replied, “I like it, too.” 

Love reaffirmed, he leaned in again to kiss her more – and started up his slow thrusting as he went, making her gasp at the sudden return of sensation. Whether he did that on purpose or not, she wasn’t sure, but he certainly took advantage of it to slip his tongue past her lips. 

They didn’t break the kiss again, so far as it could be helped. On her part, Jo had to gasp and moan every so often; on Raphael’s, he just groaned and growled against her mouth. And, honestly, his self-control right then made her want to wreck it so badly. 

Apparently her domme side couldn’t quite be held down, even when she wanted it to be. 

Then – _oh,_ finally! – she felt him hit her as deep as he could, and the pleasure of that first kiss…the waiting had _so_ been worth it. She couldn’t help a soft cry, hips bucking against him. As her hands, presently on his neck, started to dig in, he shuddered and growled deep in his throat. 

And she couldn’t help it. That reaction of his had her purring, “Was it good for you?” 

He gave her a smoldering look, then gave her a hard kiss, biting and tugging on her bottom lip. Damn it, that aroused the hell out of her – she damn well still wanted slow lovemaking, but he was making it hard to keep to that. She couldn’t stop herself from returning the favor, giving him a sharp bite in payback. 

Sucking in a breath, he recoiled, shaking his head. “Don’t do that,” he warned.

And she couldn’t help it. She retorted, “You askin’ me to behave?” 

“Tellin’,” he shot back. 

Ooh, getting dominant with her? How _sexy_. Foolish, but sexy all the same. She gave a wriggle, intentionally clenching around the cock inside her. “What ya gonna do if I refuse?” she purred. 

He stilled. It took her a moment, gazing up at him as he slowly started to smirk at her, before she realized what he was doing – or, more pointedly, _not_ doing. 

“You motherfucker,” she breathed. 

He just quirked his brows at her, amused. 

“Okay, okay,” she huffed, “I’ll behave. Now do me _right,”_ she pressed, giving a wiggle to emphasis what she meant. 

Straight from cocky to needy in half a second flat, he gave a little shiver, then obeyed. 

* * *

By now the ninja in Raphael knew just about everything he possibly could about Jocelyn, his delightful little lover. He knew all her physical sweet spots, how to tease them, how to drive her wild with need. He knew her romantic sweet spots, how to leave her utterly seduced. And, more to the point, he knew when he needed to stop. 

Now was one such time. He could feel her reaching her limit, her final orgasm of the night building up as her body steadily tensed under him. He could tell by how much she was sweating, how tightly her walls were clenching at him, how hard it was for her to open her eyes. 

He also knew she was going to keep begging him for more despite the fact that she couldn’t _take_ any more. He knew _this_ by how badly her petite body was quivering; she was crazy for him and would remain so until she passed out from exhaustion. Hell, in the past they’d had trysts like this that ended with her waking up, fully refreshed, only to jump right on his cock again. 

God, he loved his ravenous, wanton ballerina – he’d truly lucked out with her. 

But _one_ of them had to be the referee and stop this before it could reach the point of injury, and it was _never_ Jocelyn. She’d fuck him to death if she could, he knew it. 

Now, as he focused on his thrusts – he had her ass-up, head-down on the bed, one hand on her hip and the other petting along her spine – for the first time this night he let his speed pick up. She gave a shudder as he did so, giving a deep, throaty moan and sending his own arousal peaking with that one sound. 

Driving them both towards the edge, Raphael secured his grip on her, seizing her shoulder and guiding her up to her elbows. Then he gave her what her body had been screaming for all night: a deep, hard railing. 

By now she was slick as hell, so wet it made little rivers down her thighs to the bed, _and_ she was full of his cum, too. That hadn’t been his decision – well, not fully; he always low-key wanted to finish inside her – but rather hers, begging him to “fill her up” because “it’s been so long”. Initially he’d planned not to, but, well…she wasn’t wrong. 

He’d been good about that, always opting to finish on her tits or ass instead. He hadn’t done it inside her since before May. Thanks to the mutagen and its unpredictable effects, they’d been careful about it. After so many months of resisting, _he_ was craving it, too. 

And, _god_ , what a treat it’d been. Feeling her body clenching and milking him as he came, the constant sensation leaving him dizzy from how good it felt…

Maybe it was mostly the build-up – he’d managed an iron will, making her come on him three times before letting himself reach that peak; either way, it’d taken him several minutes to recover. By then Jocelyn had already started touching herself, giving him a _hell_ of a sexy sight when he was finally able to pay attention again. 

It was a miracle he’d been able to focus so clearly this whole time. _Make love to me,_ she’d said, and damn if he hadn’t upheld that. Slow and gentle thrusts, hands constantly petting, frequent kissing – in a way, tonight had been a test of endurance and concentration. So many times he’d almost broken down to fuck the hell out of her, instincts demanding he let her know that only _he_ could fuck her so well. 

Now, though…now, he let go. Now, he dropped the leash and let his need call the shots. 

He pumped her hard and fast, tip to base with every delve, shuddering over how good and hot and slick she felt inside. Such lewd, carnal sounds filled the room as he did so, a kind of music that turned him on even more. Spurred on by his lover’s orgasmic screams and the thick scent of sex around him, he reached his limit fast – a mere second ahead of her. 

He practically howled his pleasure, sealing her hips to his with both hands – _grip too tight; let go – let go, damn it!_ – and she sang along with him, body convulsing and shuddering in his grasp. He felt and heard it when she squirted, but as much as he loved it, it was drowned out by his own pleasure. 

Jet after jet of hot cum filled her, and he let it, not even trying to pull out. As his head swam from his orgasm, a kind of instinct or muscle memory had him guiding her down, his cock slipping free of her confines as she went. 

Exhausted now – damn, but holding back and keeping focused to go slow for her was tiring – he lowered to his stomach and closed his eyes. He intended to just let himself rest and catch his breath for a few minutes; when he snapped awake and discovered six hours had passed, he realized how stupid that idea had been.

He pushed himself back up, checking himself and assessing the situation. The nap had done its job; he felt rested and ready to go. But, to his surprise, he found himself alone in bed. He also felt something on his head, a little itchy. Retrieving it discovered a crown of fake flowers. 

Hah, funny, Jocelyn… 

Snorting, he set it on a shelf and went about dressing. Then, stepping out of the car into the Lair, he glanced around for his lady. Nowhere in sight. _Hmm._

Expecting this was some kind of game – Hide-and-Seek, maybe – he tried to follow her scent in the air. It led him to a fridge, then out. Straight from playful to alarmed, he retrieved his phone to check for messages. 

Honestly, he should’ve done this first; she’d sent him a text. But the message she’d left him didn’t ease his alarm. 

[Sorry, I had to go. Mom’s in the hospital.] 

Fuck. 

Now that he was up, he sent her a text back: [is she ok?] 

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t get an immediate response. Moving quickly now, Raphael finished suiting up and headed back home. This was a big enough deal that he’d have to tell his brothers – if they didn’t already know. And as he went, he couldn’t help lamenting how shitty this development was. 

Straight from cloud nine to the inner circle of Hell, so to speak. They’d had such an incredible time last night, and this morning they find out Cecilia was in the hospital. Fuckin’ great. 

When he reached home again, he found his brothers grouped up and talking. He caught Cecilia’s name as he neared; they knew, then. 

Reaching them, he demanded, “Do we know what’s goin’ on?” 

Face grim, Donnie explained, “Hypoglycemia.” 

Having no idea what that word was, Raph checked, “And that’s…?” 

“Insulin shock,” Leo told him. “It means there’s too much insulin in her system, so not enough sugar.” 

Lifting his phone, Mikey went on, “Been trading texts with Jo. She says her mom was feeling shaky and lightheaded all night and made sure to up her sugar levels, but this morning at work, she fainted. She’ll recover okay, but Jo wants to stay with her for a while.” 

Taking that in, a part of Raph felt irritated that Jocelyn hadn’t woken him. Sure, he’d been tired as hell, and it was just like her to let him sleep when they both knew he couldn’t do anything in this situation anyway, but he was still sore about it. At the very least, he could’ve kept in contact with her and supported her. 

And, yeah, he was also jealous that she’d been communicating everything with Mikey instead of sending Raph texts, too. But he fought off that envy, telling himself that it wasn’t a big deal and what was more important now was Cecilia’s health. 

As soon as he’d refocused, he checked, “When did all this happen?” 

“8:14 this morning,” Donnie answered. 

According to his text from Jocelyn, she’d received the news barely four minutes later. Now almost ten, he considered the time ahead of him. At least ten hours before he could safely go out; by then he expected Cecilia would be home again, and that Jocelyn would go with her. 

He sent her a few texts asking for further information and offering his sympathies, emotion slowly getting the better of him. This was the worst kind of event that could happen – mother and daughter had finally started to align just a year ago, growing closer and bonding, and now this? Jocelyn was going to be out of it for weeks, worrying over her mother. 

And Cecilia… The doctors might say she was going to recover, but Raph found himself doubting them. The one person he never doubted, though? 

Donnie. 

To his brother, Raph asked, “I know the docs say she’ll be okay, but whada _you_ think?” 

Personally, he was starting to like Cecilia, too. He didn’t have nearly as much time spent with her as he should, but as soon as she’d started easing up on _him_ , he’d started seeing the brilliance in _her_. She could be witty as hell, and – as Jocelyn had noted multiple times – had balls of pure steel. The fact that she’d begun training with her late husband’s equipment as a way to keep close to him, too, was touching. 

She had a big heart – until recently, it’d been fractured as well, but it was finally healing from that and, by extension, showing its depth. 

He liked Cecilia, plain and simple. For all her faults, he felt she’d done a fantastic job of raising Jocelyn as a single parent. There was no one stronger, snarkier or more driven than Jocelyn, and her mother had helped those traits develop. 

More than just liking her, he _owed_ Cecilia. For the wonder that was Jocelyn, he owed her a great deal. He needed her to stay as long as her years would allow – both for Jocelyn’s sake…and so _he_ could properly repay and respect her. 

Sighing, Donnie ventured, “I think…if Cecilia got in front of her low sugar and still had a hypoglycemic episode, it’s a downhill slide from here on.” 

_Shit._

* * *

_I’m all right. I’ll be fine._

Cecilia must have said those lines a dozen times by now, but Jocelyn couldn’t shake the helpless, aggravating feeling of doubt pervading her. Her heart wouldn’t calm down, constantly _thud-thudding_ in her chest. By now she’d been warned by the nurses that if she couldn’t calm down, they were going to have to remove her – for her own benefit. 

This was the third time in Jo’s lifetime that Cecilia had ended up in the hospital because of her diabetes. The first time had been shortly after Julian had passed, almost immediately after her miscarriage that had cost Antony his life, and the second time had been when Jocelyn was fourteen. 

Four years ago. 

It felt too soon, too…ominous. 

Her phone vibrated then, drawing her to check it. She expected it was Mikey again, but she found the text was from her beau. 

[is she ok?] 

Jocelyn…couldn’t answer that. In short, no, her mother wasn’t okay – she _would_ be, according to the doctors, but for right now she was still woozy and shaky. Despite being given an IV to help settle her episode she remained bedridden for now. 

Jocelyn had already called in to her dance school to inform them she wouldn’t be in today due to a family emergency. Now all that remained to be seen was whether she would need to call off work tomorrow, as well. 

Aloud, Cecilia huffed. “Such a serious expression,” she commented, annoyed. “You need to cheer up.” 

Giving her a wry smile, Jo replied, “Cheer up – while my mom’s in a hospital bed? Sure – and next I’ll learn to fly.” 

Cecilia chuckled dryly. “I’d say something about you having your father’s sense of humor, but you’re not limited to five jokes, so…” 

“Ooh,” Jo winced, “posthumous burn.” 

They shared a laugh. 

Then, growing sober, her mother commented, “Times like this, I really miss him.” 

Reaching out, Jo took her hand. “Me, too, Mom.”

Holding her hand tight, Cecilia murmured, “He was so good at making everything better…” 

Honestly, if they kept up this reminiscing, Jo was going to start crying. But she couldn’t bear to cut into her mother’s heartfelt thoughts, so instead she just joined Cecilia in her bed to have a cuddle. 

It was kind of funny, how much further down her feet were than her mother’s. It gave a shot of humor; Jo was _ridiculously_ tall compared to her mother. She was five-ten now, having grown just a bit more in the last year, leaving her mother a full head shorter than her. 

Whoever said daughters took after their mothers never met the two of them, obviously. 

Cecilia talked a lot about Julian in the following hours. Jo tried her best not to let it get to her, distracting herself by sending texts every so often, but she couldn’t quite keep the moisture from her eyes. Between all this talk of her father and her mother’s condition, there was just no escaping it. 

Then, by a mercy, Cecilia asked, “So how are you and your boy doing?” 

That brought a little smile out of Jocelyn. “Fantastic,” she answered easily. “I love him so much, Mom…and I love living with them all. Him and his brothers, his father…they’re so great. There’s so much love in that home, day in and day out.” 

Cecilia had a watery smile as she listened. Then she commented quietly, “That’s good. I worry, you know?” 

“That’s your job as a mother, so I’m not surprised.” 

“So he’s treating you well?” Cecilia pressed. 

“Better than well,” Jo agreed with a nod. “Last night he took me on a date. We watched Dirty Dancing, and he danced the final dance with me.” 

Heartened, Cecilia laid a hand on her chest. She knew how much Jo loved that movie – which, to be honest, was all Julian’s fault. He’d enjoyed those films, too; he’d had a slew of young romance movies on VHS in the house. Jocelyn grew up watching them, entranced with the lives playing out on the screens. 

Maybe they were part of the reason she’d taken so well to dancing. Regardless, Cecilia would understand just how much Jocelyn had always wanted one of those romances, how strong her desire to dance those final dances was…and how utterly seduced she’d been when Raphael had given her a literal dream come true. 

Aloud, Jo went on, “Then we went home and made love, and…it was the best, Mom,” she admitted quietly. “There’s…nothing I can think to complain about with him. He gives me everything I want and need, whether I thought to ask or not.” 

Nodding, Cecilia repeated, “Better than well…” 

Exactly. Smiling, Jo changed the subject, saying, “And his brothers are fantastic, too. Did I ever tell you that Mikey has a girlfriend now? He’s so happy all the time, always gushing about her. It’s the cutest thing. Not that his brothers agree with me,” she added with a laugh. 

“Oh, don’t tell me,” Cecilia commented dryly. “They tease him?” 

“Mercilessly,” Jo agreed. “But he gets ‘em back. When he’s not verbally fawning all over Lisa, he’s smacking back at them. You wouldn’t believe how hard they hit sometimes – verbally-speaking,” she clarified. “Yet they always laugh it off. No one takes anything seriously.” 

“Do they tease you, too?” her mother checked then. 

“They _try,”_ the blonde answered with a sly grin. 

Chuckling, Cecilia joked, “This almost makes me want to move in with _you_.”

“I don’t think the Lair would survive you, to be honest,” Jo laughed. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I think a mother figure would do those boys some good.” 

“You’re not fooling anyone, Mom,” Jo chided, “you just want a harem of young, strapping men.” 

Cecilia tisked. “Darn, I’ve been discovered.” 

“Cougar,” Jo accused. 

In reaction, Cecilia made a clawing gesture, growling, “Rawr.” 

They shared another bout of humor, chuckling. And then Jo began, “So, Mom…I’ve been thinking…you know that 23-And-Me thing that’s been going around?” 

A little hesitant, Cecilia ventured, “Yeah…?” 

“I kinda want to get one of those tests,” Jo confessed, “figure out…what I am, y’know?” 

“Oh, love,” Cecilia sighed, reaching out to stroke her cheek. “You know that isn’t really important. Besides, we both know you can’t…get a blood test done.” 

“Not officially, no,” Jocelyn agreed. “But Donnie…might able to figure that out.” 

Silent for a moment, Cecilia considered that, eying her daughter in an analyzing sort of way. Then she asked, “Why is this so important to you all of a sudden?” 

Shrugging, Jo answered, “I’ve always kind of wanted to know. Like, we assumed Dad was Brazilian, but what evidence did we really have? Nothing. It was just something someone suggested to him once and he just went with it. And with you, your parents never really knew, either – you said they said they heard their own parents claim just about every ethnicity. So I’m this weird cocktail of genes I know nothing about,” she finished. “I’d just…like to have some answers.” 

Nodding slowly, thoughtfully, Cecilia replied, “Well, I can’t fault your logic. Just be prepared to be disappointed,” she warned. 

Biting her lip, Jo ventured, “Actually…I was thinking you should get the official test. That way we can compare, figure out which part of me is ‘you’ and which is Dad.” 

Chuckling, Cecilia checked, “If you can get Donnie to run that test for you, why would I want to pay for my own?” 

“Because his would be made of tin cans and shoelaces,” Jo quipped. 

Cecilia laughed, loud, amused by that. 

“I’m not joking,” the blonde insisted. “I’ve seen some of his stuff – yeah, he does welding and stuff, but I’ve seen zip ties and shit holding his contraptions together. Let’s just say I can’t be sure of the accuracy of his DNA analyses.” 

“Well,” Cecilia began, patting her arm, “good luck with that.” 

“C’mon, Mom, I’m serious,” Jo pressed. “Get the test done. See what science says about you.” 

“Alright, alright,” her mother sighed, dismissive of the subject. “I’ll make sure to order one when I get home. Okay?” 

Nodding, pleased, Jo replied, “Okay, good. Also, I’m coming home with you. F-Y-I.” 

Chuckling again, Cecilia agreed to that without complaint. “Role-reversal,” she commented. 

The irony hadn’t been lost on Jocelyn, either; just a year ago their positions had been swapped. The difference, though, was that Jo had been attacked by a person – Cecilia had been attacked by her own body. Still, depending on how she took to her meds, her recovery might be as long. 

Jo would be there as long as she was needed, supporting her mother every step of the way. She’d miss Raphael in the meantime (and his rowdy, adorable family), but for now her mother was more important.


	53. Mother

**Rating:** PG-13 (mild swearing, sex talk)

 **Characters:** Raphael, Jocelyn (OC)

 **Tags:** interspecies, romance, fluff, ballet, dancer, original character, shameless pwp, sex

[ **[ <<<FIRST<<<]** ](https://sultrysirens.tumblr.com/post/164644541709/the-dancer-part-1)

[ **[Part 49]** ](https://sultrysirens.tumblr.com/post/175843988204/the-dancer-part-49)

[ **[Part 51]** ](https://sultrysirens.tumblr.com/post/176939662574/the-dancer-part-51)

* * *

* * *

* * *

The first moment he could, Raphael stopped by the apartment. Although this was a more personal kind of visit, his brothers came with, to his surprise; they wanted to check on Cecilia, too. Being the mother of their almost-sister-in-law, they felt it was important. 

He appreciated that. 

They brought along a few gifts they’d managed to scrounge up in the meantime, most of which Mikey carried thanks to his backpack. Jocelyn knew they were coming, so she’d left her (former) bedroom window unlocked for them. 

The brothers each called out greetings the moment they were inside, letting the women know they were here. With Jocelyn’s bedroom door open, the guys could see the two ladies on the couch, watching TV. One by one, they filed into the living room, all smiles and how-are-yous. 

By now Cecilia had so much familiarity with the turtles that she easily accepted affectionate touches and hugs. And, after greeting them in turn, she noticed the look passing between Jocelyn and Raphael. 

Smirking, she nudged her daughter, saying, “Well, go on.” 

Grinning, glad to be released from her position as guardian, Jocelyn hopped right up to her feet and promptly threw herself into her lover’s grasp. They hugged tight, shared a kiss – ignored the aggravated noises from his two single brothers – and Jocelyn teased, “Aww, you didn’t bring your flower crown.” 

Raph snorted. “Yeah, okay, it was cute of you to violate my sleep like that,” he quipped, “but no way am I gonna take that thing _anywhere.”_

Faking a pout, she whined, “But I worked so _hard_ on it…” 

“And?” 

His dry retort had her laughing. 

Curious, Leo checked, “Flower crown?” 

Beaming, she replied, “There were a bunch of fake flowers laying around, so I made them into a flower crown.” 

“Then she put it on my head while I was sleeping,” Raph finished blandly. 

Chuckling, Mikey commented, “Aww, I bet you looked so cute!” 

“What’s that?” Raph shot back, cupping a hand behind his ear. “Ya want me ta flatten ya?” 

“I dunno, I’m with Mikey,” Donnie added, smirking. “Bet you looked so precious, bro.” 

Faking indignation, Raph quipped, “My own brothers, turned against me!” To Cecilia, he added, “Can you believe this?!” 

The older woman just chuckled, amused. 

Towards his brothers, Jocelyn whispered, “He was _so_ cute.” 

“Oh, you’re payin’ for that,” he told her. 

She just grinned at him, fearless as ever. 

“Well,” Leo started, getting things back on track, “now that the teasing has been had…” He stepped closer to the couch, then knelt down, giving Cecilia his full attention. 

From the indulgent look on her face, she found the move charming. 

“I hope you won’t find this invasive or pretentious,” he told her, “but we were worried about you, Mrs. Delaghy. We decided to give you a few gifts, if you’ll have them.” 

Hand over her heart, the older woman sent a startled look at her daughter; Jocelyn stared right back, brows high. She’d known nothing about this, and she impressed as much with a little shrug and head-shake. 

Mikey had already presented Donnie with his shell, letting the older boy dig in to retrieve the items they’d brought. And, one by one, the brothers handed them over. 

From Leo: a [delicate glass rose](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.debzcrafts.co.uk%2Fekmps%2Fshops%2Fdebzcrafts%2Fimages%2Fred-crystal-rose-1336-p.jpg&t=MjIzZTUyMDU2OWYzMjE0ZDFjNmI1NzViN2U5MTI0YjUxN2ViOTNhMyxPckZoOHFtdA%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F176086941189%2Fthe-dancer-part-50&m=0), no more than six inches in length, the bud closed. No one had any idea where he’d gotten that or how long he’d been holding onto it, but the way he so easily gifted it to another suggested he’d always intended to give it away. 

Cecilia gave a soft gasp at the lovely object, carefully cradling it as she examined it in the light. To him, she said, “It’s gorgeous, thank you…” 

One thing Raph realized at that exact moment? Neither mother nor daughter had qualms about accepting gifts. There was no, “Oh, you shouldn’t have!” or, “I can’t accept this!” Honestly, it made him smile. 

From Mikey: a [colorful woven bracelet](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.cooksongold.com%2Fblog%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2015%2F06%2Ffriendship-bracelets-11.jpg&t=ODMxNTI5NzcyZTEzNjVjN2JjMDZiZGI5YjU1ZmI3NTY5ZWNmMGY2NyxPckZoOHFtdA%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F176086941189%2Fthe-dancer-part-50&m=0), a mixture of reds, greens and yellows, the threads making an arrow design around its length. This was one of many such accessories he’d collected but hadn’t worn, some found and some given to him by others. 

Accepting it, Cecilia smiled, admiring its design. Then, speaking up, she told Mikey, “This is _very_ cute. Thank you, Mikey.” 

He grinned. “Shucks, it weren’t nuthin’,” he retorted, making her chuckle. 

From Donnie: a book. The title read _20,000 Leagues Under The Sea_. According to him, he’d noticed her book collection and how it was half lawyer-related and half classical fiction, so he’d picked one she didn’t have in the hopes of her getting some enjoyment out of it. 

The book was a little beat up, the spine worn from readings, but Cecilia smiled in a way that said she didn’t mind. “How thoughtful,” she commented, giving Donnie a soft, almost motherly gaze. “Thank you very much. I haven’t read this since grade school.” 

Shuffling a little, awkward as hell, he replied, “Hope you enjoy it…and sorry it’s not new or anything.” 

She tisked. “Well-worn books are well-loved books,” she argued. “I’ve always preferred them to brand-new ones.” 

At that, Jocelyn tilted her head at the bookshelf behind the sofa, where most of Cecilia’s books sat. Raph followed her gaze, seeing the same thing: the law-related books were pretty crisp, but the rest were, indeed, worn. Huh. He’d never noticed that. 

Now that it was his turn, Raph pulled a small jewelry box from his belt pouch. After crouching down, himself, he offered it to Cecilia; she took it with drawn brows, suspicious. But when she opened the box, she gave another gasp, eyes lighting up.

Inside was a [pair of ruby earrings](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fimages-na.ssl-images-amazon.com%2Fimages%2FI%2F61Abf2noNSL._UY523_.jpg&t=YTUxNjE4NmExNjgxYzhhODM5NGEwZjI0OTRkNDc0NDMwYjVmOWY1YyxPckZoOHFtdA%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F176086941189%2Fthe-dancer-part-50&m=0) he’d found. He’d had to spiff up the case a bit, but the earrings themselves hadn’t been dirty. Still, he’d sanitized them anyway, just in case. Nothing found in a junk heap should ever just be trusted. 

When Jocelyn came around to see the contents of the box, she gasped, too. “Holy – where’d you get those?” she demanded. 

Chuckling, Raph answered smartly, “From in that box.” She gave him a _shut up_ kind of look; he laughed. Then, to Cecilia, he explained, “Was savin’ those for yer birthday, but I figured now is as good a time as any. Like ‘em?” 

“They’re gorgeous,” Cecilia told him. Then, giving her daughter a brief glance, she went on, “I’m actually surprised you were saving these for _me_ and not my daughter.” 

Jocelyn looked amused by this, he saw immediately; she smirked. Not a single ounce of jealousy was displayed anywhere on her. 

“Oh, I have other gifts for her,” Raph assured the older woman. “Don’t ya worry ‘bout that.” 

Smiling, Cecilia nodded, accepting that. Meanwhile, Jocelyn turned a sly look to Raphael, a single blonde brow arched at him. He gave her a blank expression, as if he had no idea what she was looking for. 

Verbally elbowing his way into the conversation, Donnie spoke up then, starting, “Actually, Cecilia, I was also hoping you’d let me give you an exam. I know the doctors did already, but I’d like to double-check.” 

Now Cecilia went from adoring to reluctant, giving him a wincing look. “Look, I’ve been told by everyone and their grandmother what a genius you are and I thank you for the concern, but I’ve been poked and prodded for the last twelve hours–” 

“This won’t require any poking or prodding,” he assured her in a rush, hands waving in surrender. 

That brought her up short. “…I’m sorry?” she checked. 

Gesturing his brothers out of the way, Donnie knelt beside Cecilia, showing her his wrist computer. “This does a number of things, and one thing it can do is check the physical health of individuals. To an extent,” he added sharply. “It checks your electrical impulses, BPM, and can spot blockages in your veins, if you have any…” 

Already bored as hell, Raph took his lover’s hand, pulling her towards the kitchen with him. Cecilia looked intrigued, listening to Donnie explain and watching when he brought up screens to illustrate his point. Leo and Mikey retreated with the couple, hanging out in the relative solitude of being ten feet away. 

“I didn’t know Donnie’s computer could do that,” Jocelyn was saying. 

“Some of it’s a recent upgrade,” Leo told her. “It could scan electrical impulses before, but the others are new. He actually gave it the ability to pick up heartbeats before he made your monitor,” he added, gesturing her wrist. “It’s what gave him the idea.” 

“Oh, neat,” she commented, looking down at it. 

A little curious and a little concerned, Raph checked, “Did it shock you today?” 

Sighing, she answered, “Almost every half-hour, like clockwork.” 

He reached out, petting her hair, and replied quietly, “M’sorry about this. You don’t deserve the stress an’ yer mom don’t deserve the struggle.” 

Shrugging, she murmured, “It’s not about what’s deserved. Never was.” 

Grim, he brought an arm around her to hold her close. He knew what it felt like to be terrified for your parent, and this event brought it all rushing back – spotting Splinter buried in rubble, finding him too weak to move, then having to leave him – having to make that choice – because Raph’s only chance of saving his father was to rescue his brothers first. 

God, that event had been…harrowing. Not knowing if his father and brothers would survive, thinking that he might end up truly alone, being so scared but having to push through it to do what he had to do…. 

He imagined Jocelyn had felt much the same, getting that call. She had just the one family member left; without Cecilia, her familial ties would be gone. Despite having Raph and Cassie, his brothers and Lisa and a slew of other friends, she would’ve felt completely alone…and he would’ve been helpless to soothe it. 

The thought made him cringe – and reinforced his need to protect. As his gaze slid over to Cecilia, he made a silent vow. 

_I’ll protect you,_ he sent her way. He wouldn’t be so corny as to call her ‘mother’, but he’d damn well give her the respect she deserved. 

* * *

Jocelyn watched as her mother slowly warmed up to the idea of the scan, eventually agreeing. She was glad; she trusted Donnie more than she trusted any doctor and had absolute faith in his analyses. If anyone could find a way to help her mother with her diabetes – if only to be able to get better warnings of when a hypoglycemic attack was on the way – it was him. 

The whole time the scan was going, Cecilia looking equally amused and cautious, Jo couldn’t look away. She tried, and Raphael and his brothers kept trying to distract her, but her eyes just kept coming back to the scene before her. She needed to know this was going to end up good; right now, nothing in the world was more important. 

She just….couldn’t lose her mother. 

Then Raphael grabbed her by the chin and pulled her gaze up to him. “How ‘bout some dinner?” he asked. 

A little surprised – had he known she hadn’t eaten yet? – she blurted, “Seriously?” 

He shrugged, offering, “I’ll let ya feed me.” 

_Oh…my god._ Jo speared him with a disbelieving expression, shocked. She _loved_ hand-feeding him – namely because _he_ loved it, always grinning and more than a little overwhelmed by the intimacy of the act. The thing was, though…they weren’t alone. Her mother and his brothers were here. 

The big poser was entirely too high on bravado to allow her to do it with witnesses around. Or, well, he always had been – until now? _Not likely._

It was a tactic, she realized. He was distracting her with something he knew would lighten her spirits, getting her focus to shift. Heartened, she couldn’t resist reaching up to pet him, hands going from his cheeks to his neck and back. 

She mouthed, “Sweetheart.” Then, shaking her head, she said aloud, “That’s okay, baby. We can save that for later.” To Mikey, she added, “Wanna be my little helper?” 

He glanced up, startled, from where he’d been staring at his phone. “Huh? Oh, yeah, sure,” he agreed quickly. “Let me just…” Looking down again, he started texting, and Jo couldn’t help an indulgent smile. 

He was texting Lisa, guaranteed. Finding it adorable as hell, she almost reached for her own phone to take a picture, wondering what he would think of it. He’d probably find the lovesick look on his own face cute, she thought – and undoubtedly he’d ask her to send it to him so he could show Lisa later. 

But the moment was over too quick, Mikey distractedly heading to the kitchen ahead of her. Shaking her head, Jo followed, sidestepping him when he paused on the way. She wasn’t worried about him bumping into anything, so she left him to deal with his heartthrob, knowing by now that his spacial awareness was perfect. 

As the pair got dinner going, Leo and Raph moved to the stools she’d bought just for the guys, idly chatting. Donnie’s scan was over pretty quick, but though Jo tried to listen in as he explained his findings, she couldn’t quite follow it. Neither could Cecilia, judging from the amount of interruptions and questions she had for him. 

To his credit, Donnie never got impatient. He paused when she needed a moment, and sometimes Leo piped in with a bit of jargon to explain Donnie’s technical terms in layman’s, and then went on. 

But what Jo could pick up sounded positive, at least; she heard a lot of “it can” and “in rare cases” and “not a problem”. She’d have to get the gist from her mother later, figure out what all this meant. 

Opting to distract _herself,_ Jo refocused on Mikey, asking, “So, how’s things with Lisa?” 

Grinning, Mikey leaned in to quietly say, “I’m in love!” 

She snorted. “Well, I knew _that_ already,” she teased, “you wear it like a second skin.” 

Quieting even further, he went on, “I told her.” 

Now her eyes bugged out. “You told her already?” she demanded on a whisper. When he just grinned, pleased, she chuckled, “Oh, my god, Mikey!” 

Reaching for his phone, he opened it to the text screen and showed her. 

Mikey: [sweet dreams, baby girl! 😴 😘 🧡 🧡 🧡 🧡] 

Lisa: [noooooo, never! 🤣 😜] 

Mikey: [you gotta!] 

Lisa: [make me 😜] 

Mikey: [k, be there in 30 🕥] 

Lisa: [U BETTER NOT OMG] 

Lisa: [I SWERA TO GOD MIKEY] 

Mikey: [gotcha! 😘 🤣] 

Lisa: [omg why]

Mikey: [love you kitten 🧡 🧡 🧡 🧡 🧡 🧡 🧡 🧡] 

Lisa: [KDJFG;UAGLDFHBLDFHGLDKFGALVSHBLAURG NO] 

Lisa: [NO NO NO NO NO]

Lisa: [i died, thanks 😐]

Mikey: [🐢 🧡 👧]

Lisa: [im gonna stragnle you 😠]

Mikey: [🧡 🧡 🧡 🧡 🧡 🧡 🧡 🧡]

Giggling, Jo leaned against him, and they both awwww’d over Lisa’s adorable freak out. Then, getting back to work, she commented, “I take it Lisa was shocked?” 

Mikey looked pleased as punch, she saw; it must have went well. “Yeah,” he nodded. “She, uh…she freaked out and complained, but…I think she was just nervous. I don’t think she’s ever been in love, and I don’t think anyone’s told her they love her, either. Aside from her family,” he added. 

“So that was a first for her,” Jo concluded with a nod. 

“Yeah. But can…can I ask your advice?” he asked her with a sudden, almost panicked look. 

Well, that was a swap. Concerned, she made sure to turn down the heat for the potatoes she was frying up so she could give him more attention. “Yeah, of course. What do you need?” she said, inviting him to get to it. 

Hesitant, he scratched at his head, then ventured, “Well, at the time, I was thinkin’…I had to tell her. I had to, y’know? Like…like she deserves to know. But the way she freaked out…was it too soon? Was I just being selfish?” Wincing, he murmured, “Could this drive her away?” 

Ugh, poor baby! Chest aching for his fragile heart, Jo quickly assured him, “No – Mikey, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s never selfish to be in love, or to tell someone that. Maybe it was too soon, I don’t know,” she allowed, “but that doesn’t make it a _bad_ thing.” 

He gave that some thought, idly stirring the macaroni in front of him. 

When he remained silent some moments later, she checked, “Do you think she loves you back?” 

His reaction was telling: slowly, an adoring smile curved his lips, eyes warming. That answered that, then. 

“You want my advice?” she went on, waiting for him to agree before continuing. Then she said, “Be gentle. If this is her first serious relationship, then everything’s new. Try not to overwhelm her…which means be attentive. Know when she needs you to stop. The trick is to figure out when it’s okay to tease and when it’s not. But at the same time, Mikey,” she hinted, “remember: she fell for _you_ , exactly as you are. I guarantee she’s not gonna want you to change.”  

That had him grinning again, and he gave her a tight, one-armed hug. “Thanks, Jo,” he said, kissing her cheek. 

Chuckling, pleased, she gave him a noisy kiss back, then returned to her potatoes – just as she heard a notable growl behind her. She tossed a saucy look over her shoulder, meeting her lover’s annoyed glare, and kissed the air towards him. 

Dinner passed well. Between Jo and Mikey, they tried out a new dish: mac & cheese and chopped, fried potatoes. Though she separated the two at first, Mikey quickly mixed his together and then moaned at the first bite, encouraging everyone else to try it. It was weirdly delicious, she thought, the spices she’d added to the potatoes seeming to harmonize well with the cheese. 

Gesturing between her and Mikey, she informed him, “We’re gonna have to figure out how to perfect this.” 

Nodding, he agreed with an enthusiastic, “Oh, hell, yeah!” Then she saw him get a particular look in his eye, one she recognized easily as being Lisa-related. 

He wanted to make this for her, Jo just knew it. Glad that they’d inadvertently come up with a really great vegetarian dish for her, something Mikey would undoubtedly make for his girl later, she left him in silence to contemplate how he was going to do it, checking in with the rest of the party. 

Unsurprisingly, everyone agreed it was pretty good – except Raphael, the carnivore. 

“Needs meat, maybe ground beef,” he commented, more toying with his meal than eating it. 

“Or a thick steak,” she offered. “Something on the side, not mixed in.” 

His gaze said he liked that idea. 

Grinning, she said, “Maybe next time. Now eat your food. You’re the one who wanted it.” 

He huffed. 

“Don’t make me feed you,” she warned, lifting her spoon threateningly. 

He cringed back. Satisfied, she smirked, already knowing where this would go. Predictably, Mikey was the first to comment… 

“What’sa matter, bro? Thought you wanted Jo to feed you!” 

Jo couldn’t resist sending her mother a look at the teasing started up, watching as amusement bloomed on her mother’s face. Tonight had been a great night, she thought – first with those gifts, and now with a fun, rowdy dinner. 

It would do wonders for Cecilia’s spirit. 

* * *

“So, what did Donnie say?” 

The turtles were gone now, Cecilia and Jocelyn alone again. The guys had fronted clean-up for the pair, washing and drying the dishes and putting them away, and, honestly, Cecilia was touched by it. Of all the things she’d expected them to do, all the ways she now knew they accommodated those around them, this hadn’t been on her list. 

It’d been a year, now, since she’d met them all, and she was still learning who they were. More and more, she was getting the impression that they were just… _good._

Not to mention the gifts they’d given her! She truly hadn’t expected that, either, and she was heartened by it. They had so little, she thought; what they did have, they had to struggle to find. Yet they’d still provided her with a few trinkets. Her! Someone they only knew because one of them was dating her daughter! 

Obviously, their sense of respect ran _deep_. That was understandable, she thought; after having conversed with Splinter a dozen times in the last year, she could definitely see his influence in his sons’ behavior. He’d raised them _right_ , instilling a deep respect, honor, and righteousness in them. Evidently this extended to giving gifts to an older woman whose daughter was now a part of their family. 

She loved those gifts, too. More so, she could see the boys’ personalities in their presents, and it had her thinking that she had lovely mementos for them, now. 

As Jocelyn questioned her, Cecilia paused midway through tossing her blankets aside, about to climb into bed. Her daughter was in the process of braiding her hair, a lifetime of practice making this act a swift one. 

They were sharing the queen-size bed tonight, Jo’s worry running so deep she wanted to be right there. And Cecilia was fine with this, to be honest; sleeping with her daughter so close would be comforting after the day she’d had. 

Now she answered, “Mostly, he was giving me advice. Some new ways to stay aware of my blood sugar, that kind of thing.” Sliding into bed, she paused to stretch her arms, her back aching in a way that made her feel so much older than she was. 

Nodding, Jo stepped around the bed, almost done with her braid. “Yeah? Any of it stick?” she asked. 

“Not really,” Cecilia chuckled. “But that’s alright. The second part was him asking to take my monitor back. He wants to see if he can add a few things to it, maybe keep a better eye on my blood sugar.” 

Finished with her task, Jocelyn finally joined her in bed, checking, “Don’t you need to, ya know, bleed for that? How does he plan on getting around that?” 

“I’m not sure he’s planning to get _around_ it at all,” Cecilia told her. “He might just add a needle and a sensor to it.” 

Pondering that, Jo said, “What did he _say,_ exactly?” 

Thinking back for his ‘exact’ words, Cecilia began, “He said he had a few ideas to try out. He started muttering a little then, but I think he was saying something about a second kind of alert system – maybe tied in with the adrenaline thing?” 

Head tilting, her daughter thought on that, then offered, “Maybe…knowing him, it wouldn’t be hard to add a second scan, designed to react to your heart rate going softer or something. Then it’s as easy as giving you a little shock, like before, to get your attention. Then it’d be easy for you to just check your blood sugar, see what it’s at.” 

Cecilia considered that, agreeing that it seemed logical. But, unsure if that’s the kind of thing Donnie would do, she opted to drop the subject. “Maybe, maybe not,” she allowed. “Regardless, I have some good news.” 

Surprised, Jo invited, “Yeah? Back in the dating scene, maybe?” 

She almost snorted. Jocelyn had been pushing to get her to date someone since this whole _moving out_ thing, obviously worried about her mother living alone, but so far Cecilia didn’t really want to do it. 

She missed having someone, yes, and she missed the domestic comfort of sitting on the couch with her husband and daughter, watching Cartoon Network, but…she wasn’t ready to let go of Julian yet. Whenever she closed her eyes and thought of love, he was still the first thing to come to mind. 

He’d saved her life back when she was a teenager. She’d been stupid enough to dabble with cocaine, had overdosed her second time trying it, and almost died from it. Yet it hadn’t stopped her from coming back to it, again and again, resulting in two more close calls. Her parents had been _pissed_ , at one point cleaning out her room to find and apprehend her stash and leaving nothing behind but a futon on the floor and a pillow and blanket. It’d depressed and angered teenage Cecilia, making her feel all the more righteous about her addiction. 

If her parents wouldn’t love and accept her, the drugs would. Only the cocaine seemed capable of making her happy anymore, and with her stash gone, she’d gone into painful withdrawal. Then, adding that to her diabetes suddenly appearing within months, for a while she’d wanted nothing more than to just die. 

Julian had stopped that. He’d pulled her away from her suicidal thoughts, gave her the strength to leave drugs behind, and helped her learn to manage her diabetes. Her parents had praised him endlessly for his help, easily accepting him into their tiny family. 

Was it any surprise she’d fallen for him?

And, yes, Cecilia realized the parallel here – she’d fallen in love at seventeen with a big, tall musclehead who’d saved her life…and then her daughter had done the same. _Like mother, like daughter.  
_

Granted, Raphael and Julian were _very_ different people – species included – but their similarities were many, as well. Julian’s jokes had been bad and limited, but never failed to make her smile; Raphael’s jokes seemed to do the same for Jocelyn. Both were charming in their own ways, sweet and gentle (Raphael was under the surface, usually, but it was still painfully obvious), and so helplessly in love. 

Cecilia still blushed to recall how many times she’d caught her husband staring at her, smiling wide. _Brains and beauty,_ he’d say. _You’re the most brilliant and beautiful woman in the world._

The fact that he’d always listed her intelligence first was probably what had won her over in the long run. She could confidently say she was smarter than him, and he never balked or postured or got defensive over it. He’d always just agreed, proud of his wife and her accomplishments. 

He’d even been saddened when her pregnancy made her quit college, lamenting that he hadn’t wanted her to have to put her life on hold. _It’s not ‘on hold’,_ she’d told him. _It’s changing. I don’t regret a thing.  
_

Truthfully, she never had. Having Jocelyn had proven to be the greatest event of her life. She’d discovered a joy in motherhood she’d never expected, had spent hours upon hours just holding and staring at her beloved daughter. Quitting college had absolutely been worth it. 

Granted, Cecilia hadn’t been the greatest mother – after losing her husband and son, she’d gone down a path she still couldn’t quite explain. Paranoid, hurting, and missing a large part of her heart, she’d repeatedly found herself lashing out at her own daughter and then justifying her actions. Now that she’d stopped with that, able to look back on it from a clearer perspective, her logical side cringed. 

She understood it now – she’d targeted Jocelyn because she knew her daughter would never abandon her – but it didn’t stop the shame. She’d spent the rest of her years making up for the way she’d behaved, making amends every step of the way. 

Honestly, the fact that Jocelyn had not only stayed, but also defended her and gave her the chance to renew their bond, was shocking. The blonde was clearly a better person than Cecilia was. Julian’s influence, she suspected; only _he_ was so willing to fix what was irreparably broken. 

Cecilia would never truly be able to let him go. She doubted another man like him even existed – Raphael not included – so why should she bother attempting to date when she knew she could never find someone she loved as much as she loved Julian? 

Back on track, she answered, somber, “No, not dating…not yet,” she added, knowing the qualifier would soothe Jocelyn. Refocusing, she went on, “I scheduled another test. The sixteenth.” 

Jo’s eyes lit up. “Oh, oh, my god, Mom, this is great!” she cried, flinging her arms around Cecilia for a hug. 

Chuckling, Cecilia returned it, glad for the affection. “Mr. Fuller told me he’s confident I’ll pass it this time,” she told Jocelyn. With a wink, she corrected, “I’m confident that I’m going to _ace_ it.” 

“I bet you will,” Jo agreed, grinning. “Want me to get the flash cards, help you study?” 

Laughing, Cecilia shook her head. They didn’t have _flash cards_ and Jo knew it. “I’m sure I could use refreshers,” she allowed. “And,” she added more dryly, “maybe some of those laws will stick in your head, for once.” 

Faking offense, Jo laid a hand on her heart, mouth dropping open. “Um, excuse you? I’m no lawbreaker, thanks!” 

“You’ve been having sex since you were fourteen,” Cecilia deadpanned. 

“Hey, I didn’t start having sex with _boys_ until I was sixteen, thanks,” Jo corrected. 

Cecilia rolled her eyes. Jocelyn mirrored the move. 

Amused, now, Cecilia considered her relationship with her daughter. So much had changed over the last year – for the better. They’d become very open, very honest. Jocelyn had always been so, even as a little girl, treating no subject as taboo and asking things she _really_ shouldn’t have, but for Cecilia, this was new. Talking about sex, in particular, had always been difficult for her. 

Especially with her daughter…and especially after her daughter had started dating a mutant reptile. The first time she’d breached the subject, she’d steeled herself against any and every answer – and still been left shocked. 

It’ll taken a long… _long_ time for her to come to accept that part of her child’s relationship. Everything about it kept screaming _wrong!_ in Cecilia’s mind, making her cringe away from even the most innocent thoughts along those lines. More than once, the idea had sickened her. 

It had only been through some painful reflection that she’d realized what her problem was: she was viewing Raphael as a turtle first and a person second. A part of her had been seeing it as bestiality, and although Cecilia had never been religious and as such had no viewpoints about it that way, the very concept still made her gag. It felt far too unnatural. 

Once she’d gotten past that, though, accepting that this was _not_ bestiality, but rather just another variant of simple, human love, she’d finally calmed down about it. Raphael’s strength was still a worry for the older woman, concerned over what would happen if he ever lost it midway through lovemaking, but it helped to know that Jocelyn was becoming tougher, too. 

Besides, after seeing the way he adored her, it was difficult to worry. So often Cecilia had caught one or both of them making lovey eyes at the other – so reminiscent of the way Julian had looked at _her_ – and after a while of that, she had to admit she couldn’t have chosen a more perfect man for her daughter. 

Remembering the time she’d seen him lovingly caress Jocelyn’s face, then lean in to nuzzle against her cheek, every touch butterfly-light, Cecilia was filled with an equal mix of affection, appreciation…and heartache. Oh, she missed that. 

…Maybe she _should_ try dating again… 

But no, not yet. She still wasn’t ready to let another man into her heart. Besides, she had a task to complete: getting her law degree. Best to tackle one thing at a time, and right now, getting her career on stable legs was her priority. 

Taking Jocelyn’s hand, she commented, “Well, this has been a fun chat, but your aging mother needs her rest.” 

“Aging?” Jo echoed, brows lifting. “You’re not even fourty yet!” 

“Close enough,” Cecilia muttered. 

“Well, you still look twenty, anyway,” Jo assured her. “But if it pleases the matron, I’ll let you get to sleep.” 

“Getting smart with me, kid?” Cecilia checked, one dark brow arched. 

“Oh, I’ve always been smart and you know it.” 

True. 

Letting that go, Cecilia turned off her bedside light, then shuffled down under the blankets. It was a big, heavy comforter, warm as hell, and subtly reminded her of her husband. They’d sleep-cuddled often, Julian being a clingy sleeper, and though Cecilia had occasionally gotten sweat rashes from it, she’d never really minded. 

She’d always felt so safe, so protected, in his strong arms. And now she wondered if Jocelyn felt the same thing with Julian. Realizing just how accurately her daughter had followed in her footsteps, a dark thought clouded in her mind: 

_Raphael had better survive. Everything._

She knew the pain of losing the person who meant the most to you in the world, and she wouldn’t wish it on anyone. She especially didn’t want her own daughter to suffer the same fate. Right then it was difficult not to assume it would happen – history was repeating itself almost down to the letter, after all – but Cecilia tried to tell herself not to worry. 

Julian had developed lung cancer. Raphael _couldn’t_. Everything would be okay. Cecilia would recover from her hypoglycemic attack, Raphael would never get ill, and Jocelyn would have the both of them for as long as their lives would allow. Her daughter would never, never suffer the pain and loss that Cecilia had. 

As she drifted to sleep, she repeated this to herself. Everything would be okay; Jocelyn would never cry the way Cecilia had; everything would work out. Fate would never be so cruel as to punish either mother or daughter like this again. It would be fine. 

Everything would be fine.


	54. 50% Polynesian

**Rating:** R (swearing; trigger warning: racism)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Just like everyone had been freaking telling her, Jocelyn’s mother made a full recovery. As soon as she was back on her feet she returned to work, technically not recovered enough to be there but she placated everyone by saying she literally spent her entire shift in a chair. It was difficult to have a relapse when she did nothing even remotely strenuous. 

Jo stuck around the apartment until they were sure Cecilia was out of the danger zone, leaving only to attend her classes and keep up her part-time job (luckily the manager was _super_  understanding and gave Jo all the time she needed). Within a week she wasn’t needed at the apartment anymore and returned to the Lair – though not without a measure of protest. 

And by protest, she meant “badgering her mother into dating”. 

“Fine,” Cecilia sighed after the umpteenth prodding, “I won’t turn down the next guy who asks me out. Deal?” 

“Deal,” Jocelyn had agreed, relieved. 

By then Donnie had finished his alterations with her mother’s monitor. The change was actually really simple: he altered the sensor to pick up _weakened_  heartbeats, whereas before it was only designed to pick up _rapid_  heartbeats. The alert system had been updated as well; if her pulse was detected as falling below a certain threshold, it beeped. 

It was so simple, it was brilliant. Cecilia gave him a hug for his work (after making him kneel down), an act that shocked both Jocelyn and Raphael. 

Cecilia had just hugged a mutant turtle. 

 _Cecilia._  Cecilia hugged him. _Ce-ci-li-a._  

Wow. 

Donatello looked awkward from the embrace, but he’d been smiling for a long time after that – up until he’d gotten distracted by a project, anyway. And once all that was settled, Jo approached him about her genetic heritage idea. Her opener? 

“Heya, Don, ever wanted to analyze someone’s blood to determine their exact genetic history?” 

He looked briefly surprised at the nickname. Then, shaking out of it, he ventured, “Uh, sure? What’s this about?” 

Feeling just a tad bit awkward, Jo explained, “I’ve always kind of wanted to know what kind of mutt I am, so I was thinking of getting a 23-and-Me kit, but I can’t do that, cause, y’know….”

Brows drawn, he pressed, “Because what?” 

Because _what?_  “Because of the mutagen in me,” she told him, surprised that he hadn’t put that together. 

“The mutagen wouldn’t do anything to the test,” he told her, baffled, and by now she was thinking they weren’t on the same page. 

“No,” she agreed, “but my concern is it’d get discovered and people would demand to experiment on me?” 

At that, he gave her a gentle smile. “There isn’t enough in your saliva to get noticed,” he informed her. 

Wait – what? “Saliva?” she echoed. “I thought it was a blood test.” 

He shook his head, understanding dawning on the both of them. “No – some other tests are, but 23-and-Me? Spit test.” 

Oh. Hah. Well, that’s that, then. Giving a sheepish grin, Jo hummed, “Mm, well, I feel like a dumbass, now. Thanks?” 

He chuckled. “Anytime. Correcting everyone else is my favorite pastime, after all.” 

She snorted. But though she intended to leave the lab then, a thought held her back. Aloud, she said, “One other thing.” 

He glanced up again from where he’d been writing something on a whiteboard. “Yeah?” he prompted. 

It was a little awkward to breach this subject, but brazen Jocelyn was probably the only one with the balls to do it. She began, “So, for some context, let me start by saying Raphael and I do a lot of talking about you guys. And we’re kind of concerned….for you, in particular.” 

Now growing cautious, he ventured, “Why?” 

 _How best to bring this up?_ she wondered. “Well, to be blunt, we’ve noticed how much you avoid us lately – not just Raphael and myself, but Mikey and Lisa, too. We don’t want you feeling uncomfortable,” she told him. 

Donnie studiously looked away then, bringing his gaze back to the whiteboard. He didn’t answer, but she saw a tense muscle in his jaw that told her he knew exactly what she was talking about. 

“So what this comes down to,” she continued, “is we want to know what we have to do to keep from–”

“There’s nothing you have to do,” he cut in sharply. 

“Donnie….” she sighed, feeling bad about this. 

“It’s just jealousy,” he told her – without looking at her. “It’s my issue, not yours. You don’t have to change your behavior – in fact, you shouldn’t. I just need to learn how to deal with it.” 

“And-stroke-or get a girlfriend,” she added. 

He gave a dry laugh. “Yeah,” he said quietly, “that’s not happening.” 

Um, what? Concerned, she demanded, “Why not?”

Annoyed, he sent her a you-know-why look, saying nothing. 

No dice. Refusing to go along with his self-hate, she repeated, “Well, why not?” 

Incredulous, he blurted sarcastically, “Oh, I don’t know, because I’m the visual representation of the word ‘unappealing’?” 

Suddenly pissed, she strode up to him and swung, slapping him right across the face. As he jolted, stunned – though unhurt, she thought; the turtles had such tough skin she doubted a slap would ever cause physical pain – she snapped, “You stop that. Right now. You are _not_  unappealing. Christ, I can’t believe I even have to explain this to you,” she hissed. 

Shaking off his stun, he shot back, “Oh, right, I’m just so hot, people fall at my feet as I walk by.” 

She pointed at his nose. “One more self-hating comment like that and _I’m_  gonna send you to the _Hashi.”_

He narrowed his gaze. “You don’t have the authority,” he reminded her. 

“No, but I’m in with the one who does,” she returned. 

She could practically _see_  the word ‘touché’ flash behind his eyes. 

Then he replied, “The _Hashi_ isn’t for single punishments. We go as a team, so your loverboy would be going with,” he added smartly. 

“And he’d be happy to go, if it means helping you,” she told him. “But that’s irrelevant. The point is, Donnie, you’re not unattractive. You’re actually pretty sexy, you’ve just never really tried to use it, have you?”

He physically recoiled at the word ‘sexy’. “What the _fuck_  are you talking about?” he demanded. 

Wow. She’d gotten him to curse. That was impressive. 

Aloud, she explained, “If there’s one thing I know, it’s that people are _always_  more attractive than they realize. You included. Maybe when you look in a mirror or analyze yourself all you see are flaws,” she allowed, “but that’s – pardon my phrasing – just part of the human condition. It’s a flaw to see nothing but flaws,” she told him, “but we’re also so obsessed with perfection, we can’t help it.” 

Somewhere between aggravated and intrigued, he snapped, “Right, fine – I get psychology. I know it isn’t healthy to think bad things about yourself. And I don’t,” he informed her. “I’m just realistic. I know what I am, and I know what I’m not. I’m fast, skilled, strong, and smart enough to build literal rockets – but I’m not a looker, Jo. Never have been.” 

Narrowing her eyes, she reached up and yanked the glasses off his face. “I would disagree,” she argued. “You’re more handsome than you know, Donnie, especially when you smile – you just don’t know how to see it.” Though he was looking more awkward by the second, she gave him no quarter, continuing, “I had to help Raphael overcome that same negativity, you know. But I can’t help you with this because we’re not interested in each other like that. You’d just convince yourself I was being insincere.” 

“You _would_  be likely to say whatever it took to lift my spirits,” he allowed, shuffling in place. “It’d be impossible to just outright believe you.” 

“That mindset is exactly my point,” she agreed. “But let me give you a bit of advice: you ever find someone you like, take off the glasses. I know how much you love them,” she teased, “but you should give this person a moment to see….” She paused, took a step back, and gestured him, finishing, “the whole picture.” 

Awkward, he took the glasses back, replaced them, and muttered, “Relationship advice from my brother’s girlfriend. What’s next?” 

“Hopefully,” she offered, “your own girlfriend.” 

He scoffed. 

“I’m serious,” she told him. “Just play to your strengths and don’t hide anything. If someone likes you, they’ll like the things _you_ don’t like about yourself, too. You know, the aforementioned flaws?”

“Yeah,” he said on a dry laugh. “I’ll just quickly assemble a perpetual motion device, hack the FBI, and chuck my bo through a pinhole while showing off how _not_ handsome I am. No problem.” 

“Or,” she offered with a laugh, “just do what you’re doing right now.” 

That made him pause. “What?” he demanded. 

“You’re clever and sassy when you’re not putting yourself down,” she informed him. “It’s fun, it’s adorable, it’s pretty damn hot – keep to that. Don’t be I’m-Not-Good-Enough Donnie – be quick-witted, fun Donnie.” 

He thought that over, and Jo took the moment to hurriedly add, “And stand up straight. Height and confidence are sexy as hell, and you have at least _one_  of those in abundance.” 

He snorted. “Yeah, sure, I’m tall – and skinny.” He flexed in example, showing how despite his health and training, his biceps barely bulged at all as he crooked his arm. 

Smirking, she informed him, “You’re _lithe_  and you’d be shocked how many women prefer that. Sure, I’m into bodybuilders,” she shrugged, “but literally no one in my class has expressed any interest in heavy-set muscles. You’re in the majority, you know.” 

“For ballerinas, maybe,” he allowed. 

“Did I say _ballet_  anywhere in that sentence? No,” she hinted. “I was talking about my graduation class.” 

 _Now_  Donnie seemed to get it. Startled and uncomfortable, he gave a vague shrug, saying, “Yeah – maybe – I don’t know. Can we drop it, now?” 

Nodding, Jocelyn agreed, “Yeah, sure. Just give it some thought, okay? And I’m serious – no more self-hate. That threat remains. I will absolutely tattle on you to Dad.” 

He chuckled. “Noted.” 

Pleased, she headed off, adding as she left, “And trust me when I say you’re _damn_ handsome.” 

He choked and spasmed in the middle of adding something to his whiteboard, the marker snapping in half and spraying in all directions with dry-erase ink. 

* * *

For the sake of timing things right, Jo and Cecilia did their heritage tests together. Once they actually got the tests in the mail, Cecilia became surprisingly excited, and Jocelyn was happy about that. 

In a way, this was another form of bonding, and she couldn’t wait to see the results. After they sent them in, they waited out the prerequisite two weeks with anticipation. 

It was during a Mother-Daughter day (which, thanks to Jo’s job, had shifted from ‘every Monday’ to ‘hey what days do you have off this month’) that they decided to finally check the results. Sitting side by side, they brought up the internet on their phones and checked their profiles. 

At the top of Cecilia’s list: African, specifically Kenyan, at 22%. 

At the top of Jocelyn’s: Polynesian, at 43%. 

They shared a look of surprise. 

“Polynesian,” Cecilia murmured. 

“Dad,” Jo agreed softly. “He was Polynesian.” 

“ _Not_  Brazilian,” Cecilia nodded. “How did we _not_  see that?” 

“It makes so much sense now….” 

“You’re half-Polynesian.” 

Reaching up, Jo grasped her hair. “That’s why–”

“–your hair is so much softer than mine,” Cecilia finished, holding her own hair. 

Their expressions said it all: a lifetime of curious observations and guessed conclusions had just been corrected. 

Julian Delaghy had been Polynesian, _fully_  Polynesian, and that made Jocelyn half. And now that they had that figured out, they went back to their results, comparing as they went. 

Shocked, Cecilia commented, “They never lied…?” Her world map was lit up in nearly every country her grandparents had claimed as their genetic origins. It’d all been true? Nearly a dozen ethnicities were named – including ‘Native American’, the pair noted – with each less than 8% of a match. 

Egypt. Turkey. Morocco. Costa Rica. Mali. Sudan. Greece. The list went on, with a few vague ‘Eastern European’ and ‘South African’ types of additions. 

On Jo’s chart, each of those same claims were at-or-around half as much of a percentage. Obviously the test could only do so much and spit probably wasn’t the best way to get DNA, but it’d clearly matched mother and daughter almost perfectly. 

She couldn’t wait to tell Raphael. In fact, feeling super jazzed about all this, she made the declaration as soon as she was off her motorcycle with her helmet put aside. 

“I’m Polynesian!!” she shouted. 

All sound cut out as attention went her way. Raphael even stopped mid-step, on his way to greet her, blinking in surprise. 

“Polynesian…?” he echoed. “Ya mean, like, Hawaiian?” 

“Yes!” she agreed sharply, all but skipping over to him to throw herself in his arms. “I’m 43% Polynesian – that means _Dad_  was Polynesian! Holy shit, right?!” 

Now that he was on the right page, he gave her an indulgent smile. “No wonder ya taste like pineapple,” he teased. 

“I do _not,”_  she shot back, faking offense. “Clearly, that flavor is coconut.”

“Hah.” 

“Seriously, though,” she said, smiling warmly, “I had no idea. This whole time I thought my results would either be a total mix of, like, _everything_ , or it’d come back as half-Brazilian. I was totally wrong on all accounts.” 

Curious, he asked, “What’d yer mom think of all this?” 

“She was surprised, then kinda mad at herself,” Jo told him, chuckling. “Oh – and her results? 22% Kenyan, and less than 8% everything else – which encompassed, like, _everything ever._  I might be half Polynesian,” she mused, “but the rest of me is the biggest mutt of all time.” 

“The bigger the mutt,” Donnie threw in, “the healthier the offspring. Usually,” he added more quietly. 

She chuckled. “I’ll take it.” 

“And your dad was an orphan, right?” Leo asked her then. When she nodded, he suggested, “Think you can use that Polynesian thing to find his relatives?” 

….Maybe. The idea made her smile, suddenly realizing that despite the diversity of New York’s populace, Polynesian was a pretty rare ethnicity. She might just be able to use it – to find her _relatives!_  

Suddenly she wanted to scream from excitement. 

As soon as she swung her gaze from Leo to Donnie, the genius was on his feet. “On it,” he said before she could say a word. 

“Thanks, bro,” she murmured, smiling. 

He grinned as he sat down at his computers and started a search, fingers flying over the keyboard. “Yeah, well, no guarantees,” he told her. “You said he was left at a firehouse – there’s not much to go on, there. It’ll probably take a while to get any results, if there even are any.” 

“I still appreciate it,” she told him, coming over to give him a swift hug. He patted her arm in acknowledgement – the most a possessive Raphael would allow. 

Then, rounding on her lover, she squealed, “I’m Polynesian!” 

“I heard,” he chuckled, coming over to haul her away by the hand. “So what’s the rest a’ya?” 

“Just about everything,” she answered with a laugh. “10% Kenyan, 4% Ethiopian, 4% Turkish, 4% Costa Rican, 3% Egyptian–” 

“Got it,” he interrupted, amused. 

“It goes down from there,” she informed him. “A bunch of 3%s, then a bunch of 2%s, et cetera. Then, at the very end? Less than 1% ‘western European’. It just gets more vague as it goes down.” Perking up, she added, “I’m 0.3% Native American.” 

“Oh, well, _galiheli tsidenalv,”_ he told her, smirking. 

“Uh, what was that?” 

“Cherokee,” he chuckled. “It means ‘pleased to meet you’.” 

Impressed, she checked, “You know Cherokee?” 

“Nah – I know how t’say ‘pleased to meet you’ in Cherokee.” 

She snorted. “Well, in that case – _c’est tout?”_  

“French?” he asked. 

“Yep.” 

“What’d ya say?”

“Not telling.” 

“Aw, c’mon. Now I’m interested.” 

“Nope. Anyway, _que voulez-vous faire?”_  

He gave her a pained look. “Yer killin’ me, here,” he complained. 

She shrugged. “I’ve been learning French from my instructors. Deal with it.” 

“Are _you_  French?” he asked. 

“Other than that ‘western European’ thing? No,” she answered. “I’m actually a little disappointed by that. Of all the European countries I would’ve liked to be a part of….” 

“Ya really love French stuff, huh?” he said, looking at her sideways. 

Smiling, she nodded. “I feel it’s the most elegant culture, bar none. I’d love to visit there some day.” 

He gave her a look that said ‘noted for the future’. 

Uh-oh. She probably shouldn’t have said that, she realized now. With how over-the-top he could be when it came to dates, she now expected that he would someday just take her on a plane and then tada, Paris. 

She would die on the spot if he did that. After, of course, fucking the _hell_  out of him. She had to reward her man before she could expire; it was in the rulebook. 

* * *

A few days later, Jocelyn came home in a shitty mood. She’d ran into the most stuck-up piece of racist shit at work and despite the story having a satisfying ending, she was _still_ aggravated as hell. She was careful on the drive home, of course, especially considering it’d been raining, but god _damn_ did she want to beat the shit out of something. 

The moment she was in the Lair and her motorcycle was shut off, she yanked off her helmet and slammed it down on the seat. Then she tore off her jacket and chucked it away from her, flinging water everywhere. (Luckily the Lair was damp as hell so this made absolutely no difference.) 

Raphael stopped mid-step as he caught on to her pique, having been on his way to greet her, one foot still in the air. He sent a glance at Leo, the eldest brother conveniently close enough to witness what was going on while he examined some of Donnie’s monitors. 

Neither of them seemed willing to approach the angry human. 

Huffing, she fluffed her hair out, then waved at her boyfriend to let him know it was okay to come closer. “I’m fine, just need to cool my head,” she told him. 

Every step he took was cautious as he descended the stairs, and she got the impression he was playing up his timid reaction to help her chill out. 

It was kind of working. 

“Yeah?” he ventured. “What happened?” 

She muttered to herself, then explained – loudly, “Got a fuckin’ bitch-ass cunt for a customer.” Growling, she snapped, “ _Uergh,_ I wanted t’tear her bitch-ass head off!” 

Raphael paused at that, looking surprised. She couldn’t blame him; she didn’t usually blow her top like this. But, then again, she also didn’t usually have to deal with _fucking racists_ at her job. 

“Ooookaaaayyy,” he began, and she caught a kind of amusement in his eyes then. Oho, he found this _funny,_ did he? Well, he wouldn’t in a second, she decided. 

Giving him an _I’m done with life_ kind of look, she told him, “Stupid old white lady came in looking for some shit for her granddaughter, an’ I came up t’help her and she was like,” Jo lightened her voice, “‘Oh, no, dear, I can handle this, thank you!’“ Dropping the mimicry, she finished, “Then she fuckin’ turns to this other woman with her – daughter or friend or some shit, I dunno – and she’s like, ‘No wonder it smells in here!’“ 

And _there_ it was; Jocelyn got a front-row seat as her boyfriend went from amused to shocked to _red alert!_ Actually feeling a little bit better seeing that, she harrumphed. “See my problem? Fuckin’ cunt….” 

God, she could _see_ his muscles swelling as he tensed all over. “Yeah?” he bit out through clenched teeth. “Didja throw ‘er out?” 

“More or less,” Jo nodded. Folding her arms, leg shaking, she explained, “I went an’ rounded on her, like, ‘Excuse me, bitch? Say that t’my face?’ And she got all pissy with me like _I’m_ the asshole, here! ‘I _said_ ,’“ she mocked in a high, nasally voice, “‘this used to be a fine establishment, until they started hiring _your_ kind.’ Ooh, I almost slapped a bitch,” she informed him. 

“Wouldn’t’a blamed ya,” he ground out. 

“So I told her we don’t like _her kind_ here and told her to get the fuck out. She called for a supervisor, so I went an’ got Malina,” she went on, donning a smug grin. 

Malina, the manager for her location, was black – a rock-solid forty-something black woman who’d been around this block more times than Jocelyn had years in her life. Suffice to say things had _not_ gone the way the customer had intended. 

Knowing exactly who Malina was from Jo’s stories, Raphael got an identical smug grin to her own. “Yeah?” he prompted. “What’d she do?” 

“Argued for a minute, bit a chunk outta the white bitch’s ass, then called security when she started to knock down displays,” Jo answered, pleased. “She owes the store for damages, now. Malina estimates it around thirty grand.” 

Nodding, Raph replied with a smirk, “Tha’s what I like to hear. Tha’s _my_ New York.” 

“Mm-hmm,” she agreed. “Stupid bitch-ass said she was gonna call corporate, but, fuck, does she really think she gonna get outta this?” Scoffing, she answered her own question, “Community service at best, plus the damages. Racism don’t pay,” she said aloud to no one in particular. 

He chose then to close the gap between them, ducking down to kiss her as he pulled her against him. She hummed, all too happy to have his affection right then. It was just what she needed to unwind. And they lingered, turning the ‘chill out’ kiss into a ‘welcome home’ kiss. 

As she broke the kiss, she invited, “Wanna go for a run?” 

His eyes darkened. 

‘Go for a run’ was a code of theirs – it meant they were going to play a hunter/hunted kind of game, one that usually _ended_ in the second Lair but sometimes didn’t make it that far. They also alternated between who was in which role, and it was Raphael’s turn to be the hunter. 

To be honest, both roles were a lot of fun for Jocelyn, albeit for different reasons. Being the hunter, pitting her notably weaker senses against his, meant he did a lot of toying with her and leading her on false trails. But between her training and the mutagen, she was getting damn fast and resilient; she could _almost_ run him down nowadays. All she had to do was get him in her sights and she closed in _fast_. 

She just couldn’t do it _sneakily._

But being the prey was even _more_ fun, she thought. He would give her a lead of two minutes, and she would just take off into the tunnels. And he would almost always toy with her as the hunter, too, able to keep track of her pretty well and lead her into corners for his own fun. There was something so amazingly thrilling about knowing he was coming after her while growing more aroused by the second, and knowing _exactly_ what the culmination of events were going to be drove her nuts from want. 

She was even getting the hang of setting false trails – unfortunately, he was also getting better at reading her tactics and avoiding them. In a kind of desperation to mislead him at least a little, she’d once torn out a few strands of hair and let it get taken by a breeze. 

He’d been _pissed_ about that; he loved her hair and treated it like a crown of pure gold. That chase had ended in him railing the living hell out of her as a form of punishment. 

The next time she yanked out some strands of hair, she’d done it purposely just to have that particular railing again. 

Then, suddenly, Donnie was there, hurriedly explaining, “Actually, if this woman was commenting on a smell and determining it as yours, it’s entirely likely that she was smelling your _racial_ scent, which I’ve looked up before because we–” he gestured himself, Raphael, and Leo (who pointedly looked away) “–have much stronger senses of smell and have noticed that different ethnicities tend to smell alike despite the fact that individuals, as always, have individual scents–”

By now both Jocelyn and Raphael were staring at him; she was feeling a rising sense of disbelief and offense as Donnie rambled on, and Raphael was giving him the ‘shut the fuck up’ look. 

Completely missing the warning signs, Donnie just kept going, clearly stuck in ‘teacher’ mode. “–and while it’s true that you’re half-Polynesian and should have fewer pores thanks to your distantly Asian heritage, the quarter-African in you _could_ create enough chloride in your sweat to be picked up by people with stronger senses of smell than average–” 

_“Donnie,”_ Raphael bit out, a warning to shut the hell up. 

“–so my point is that the woman might’ve actually smelled something and, not knowing it’s simple biology, have equated it with – uhh….” Finally catching on, Donnie snapped out of it in the middle of his sentence, looking between the lovers as he came out of his information spiel. “A-anyway, she was wrong, she deserved what she got, and on a brighter note, I have news for you!” he declared with a weak, forced smile. 

“Really?” Jo breathed, now having to deal with her cooling anger rising right back up. She kind of wanted to hit him; she knew he meant well – he was _always_ looking to learn something new and then teach it to everyone else – but it didn’t stop her admittedly wounded emotions from turning on him. 

Nodding, he told her, “It’s about your dad.” 

At once, a sense of seriousness hit her. All anger and irritation was forgotten in lieu of anticipation. This was it – this was what she’d been waiting a lifetime to learn. She gave her lover a glance and, from the grim look of him, he knew what was coming. 

And that it wasn’t good news. 

She took a steadying breath, then nodded, withdrawing from Raphael to turn her attention to Donnie. “Okay,” she began, focusing to try and calm her suddenly spazzing heart. Her monitor gave her a shock; she hit the button, then pulled it off. To Donnie, she prompted, “Let’s hear it.” 

Nodding, he led her up to his computer station. He sat in his chair, waking up one of the sleeping monitors and directing her attention to it as she took a seat on a stool. A map was displayed on half the screen; the other half showed two documents layered on top of each other. 

“This is where your father was found,” he told her, pointing at a red dot. He zoomed out then, scrolling left, to a second red dot. “And….this is where he was born, if I’m right.” 

Suddenly the top document made sense; that was a _birth certificate_ , a la fourty-years-ago. The name read “Matautia, Enoka Kaiea.” 

“Enoka,” Jo murmured. 

“This was the only birth recorded in a fifty-mile radius marked as having Samoan descent,” Donnie told her. Then, with a sigh, he went on, “Three days later, the parents reported a kidnapping. The day after, a baby of indeterminate ethnicity was found on the firehouse doorstep.” 

Oh, god. Her father hadn’t been abandoned – he’d been _stolen._

Shaken by the discovery, she ventured, “A-are you sure? What’re the chances you’re wrong?” 

Hesitating, he answered, “Less than three percent. The timeline fits, your ethnicity fits, everything checks out – all we need is to compare DNA between you and, uh….your possible grandparents….and we’ll know for sure.” 

Your _possible_ grandparents, he’d said – but she knew he only added the qualifier because of her nerves. He was positive he had this right. And, she admitted, for any other debate, she would’ve instantly taken his side. Donnie wasn’t ever just _wrong_ about something. 

She just….was scared. She didn’t want to get her hopes up, only to find out that these answers – while distressing – were wrong. She _needed_ this to be true, to have this piece of her life’s puzzle figured out, despite the shock of the truth hitting her like a sledgehammer. 

Gaze dropping to the ground, she murmured, “Kidnapped….” 

Clearing his throat, Donnie ventured, “That’s, uh….that’s what this is. A copy of the statement.” 

Hesitantly, she glanced up, noting that the second of the two documents was now full-screened. It was a police statement, signed by two names and an officer, dated – as Donnie had stated – three days after the day of birth of Enoka Matautia. 

Those signed names had her riveted, though. Laini and Alex Matautia. If Donnie was right, those were the names of her grandparents. 

Gesturing them, she asked, “Did you get a current location…?” 

Nodding, he handed her a paper. Not only did it have an address, she saw, but it had a phone number. She was so nervous her hand freaking _shook_ as she held it, reading that the couple named now lived in Hawaii. 

Once upon a time, her family had been limited to her mother’s side – and Cecilia had been an only child. She’d never even had cousins (or none that she’d spoken of, at any rate). When Jo’s three grandparents had passed on, her family had stopped _dead_. 

With no one but her mother left, was it any wonder she was clinging so hard now? 

Yet, with this paper, she might very well have more. And it’d all spawned from a desire to have her genetics figured out. She couldn’t decide if she was crazily lucky or bizarrely _un_ lucky. 

Swallowing thickly, she got up from the stool in a daze, dumbly murmuring a ‘thanks’ as she walked off. She was so distracted, staring at the paper in her hands, she almost walked into the canal; Raphael had to stop her, an arm looping around her waist to halt her blind wander. 

Looking up at him, equally scared and excited, she whispered, “What do I do?” 

He didn’t answer right away; she saw his expressions go from hesitant to solemn to thoughtful, then finally settling on a warm smile. 

“Call ‘em.”


	55. Matautia

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Jocelyn spent most of the night debating over what to do and what to say. She wanted to dial that number, to make the call to her potential grandparents – but she had no clue how to break the news to them, and, worse, she was shaking from nerves.

She had _never_ been like this before. Nothing and no one made her _nervous_ – except maybe Raphael when he was being romantic – and it’d gotten to the point where she was feeling lightheaded.

Laini and Alex Matautia. Very probably her dad’s parents. Her grandparents. They were alive, in their sixties according to “Enoka’s” birth certificate (Laini was the elder by four years, funny enough), and still waiting on news of their lost child. One call and Jocelyn might just be able to close that story for them.

It didn’t have the best ending, she admitted – she’d have to inform them that their son grew up well with a single father, married, had a daughter, then died of lung cancer before he was thirty – but it would finally end forty years’ worth of uncertainty.

If they were anything like Cecilia, they’d have been frantic for news, waiting by the phone every day since their baby had disappeared.

Jocelyn could end that fearful anticipation. The problem?

 _She_ was feeling fearful anticipation, too.

Raphael wasn’t much help, though not for lack of trying; he kept encouraging her and trying to help her get over the knots in her stomach. He was supportive, loving, calming – he even offered to make the call for her, which she appreciated but denied. She had to be the one to do this.

It was _her_ family, after all.

She was just shockingly scared, now that she knew everything. And as much as she loved her boyfriend, going so far as to just curl up in his arms while she debated her next move,she felt she needed a different kind of support for this. She needed help from someone who had just as much investment in this discovery.

Her mother.

Worry over her mother’s health kept Jocelyn from calling her for so long that soon midnight rolled around and she had to wait until morning. She had a fitful sleep that night, too; she couldn’t seem to turn off her mind long enough to drift off. At one point Raphael just pulled her against him and held her there to keep her still, she’d been tossing and turning so much. He even gave her a massage to ease the tension in her shoulders, but not even that could make her sleep for more than a half hour at a time (and, by extension, neither could he; she felt bad about that).

Her mind was too full, her body too tense. She just couldn’t _rest_. And, after obsessively checking her phone every few minutes from six until seven, she finally made the first call.

Cecilia answered quickly, a little alarmed from the sound of her – which, Jocelyn admitted, was understandable. They didn’t usually call unless they had something important to discuss, and especially not this early; the rest of the time they texted.

“Jocelyn, love? What’s wrong?”

 _Psychic,_ Jo thought, smiling a little. “Uh, so – nothing’s wrong, really,” she began. “I just have some news and it’s kinda good and kinda bad. Are you free?”

“I have time, if that’s what you mean,” Cecilia replied. “What’s this about?”

And this is where things got tricky. Cecilia’s law test happened just a week prior – which she’d passed, as predicted. Mr. Fuller was now going through the process of getting her an official certification to practice law, which was bound to take a while but in the meantime he’d made her a consultant. As a result, her time had been split – she was a secretary for the first three hours of her workday, and then she moved up to an office for the remainder. There, she received potential clients, and she gave advice, determined if they had a legitimate case, and if they did, which lawyer they should contact.

Basically she wasn’t allowed to actually touch a case, but she was given the responsibility of deciding which people actually had one. With all that, she had a much harder job than before, and Jocelyn wasn’t sure she should bog down her mother’s mind with this issue. It could jeopardize her new position. But, well….Jo still needed the advice.

She took a steadying breath – something ballet had taught her to do before difficult tasks and had become a habit – then began, “It’s about Dad….”

Cecilia was very, very quiet as Jo explained what Donnie had discovered, an act that she recognized as her mother absorbing every facet of information. But the fact that she couldn’t even hear breathing worried her; every few sentences she had to check and make sure Cecilia was still there.

At the end, her mother murmured, stunned, “Enoka Mata….Matatui?”

“Matautia,” Jo corrected. “Enoka Kaiea Matautia.”

“Enoka Kaiea Matatia?”

“Ma- _tau_ -ti-a.”

“Matautia?”

“Right,” Jo chuckled, glad for the tiny moment of levity brought on by her father’s birth name. “Kinda tough, isn’t it?”

“A little,” Cecilia allowed. “It only took me twenty-seven times.”

Jo laughed.

Then, with a measure of wistfulness, Cecilia repeated, “Matautia….”

Knowing where this was going – Jo had already thought of it, herself – she replied, “Cecilia Matautia. Jocelyn Matautia. That could’ve been our names….”

“Or your father might be living in Hawaii and we never would have met,” Cecilia point out.

“Man, that’d suck. I’d hate to not exist.”

Her mother gave a soft laugh. Then, more hesitantly, she ventured, “And your grandparents, you want to call them?”

“Yeah – but I can’t right now, I have to get to class soon,” Jo sighed. “I procrastinated too long.”

“Tonight, then?”

“Yeah….m-maybe….”

“Want to make it a conference call?” Cecilia offered.

“Mom, I don’t even know how to do that.”

“I do. I can make the call and then bring you in. I do it all the time at work.”

“I-I don’t know. Maybe just let me call first?” A part of Jocelyn wanted very much to just shove this off on her mother, but it’d been her idea and she wanted to see it through. This whole thing was a result of her decisions, her desires. It would be rude to just foister it off on someone else.

Cecilia was quiet for a moment. Then, subdued, she replied, “If that’s what you want, love.”

Nodding to herself, Jo considered that – just what _did_ she want? Aside from a relationship with the unknown side of her family, that is.

Did she really want to make this call on her own? And, if so, _why_? Because of the blood ties? Cecilia might not be related to the Matautias, but she’d married their son and had his child. She deserved this reunion as much as Jocelyn did.

In a better world, Cecilia would have a relationship with them right now, her previously invisible mother- and father-in-law.

Wasn’t that just as important as Jocelyn being their grandchild?

Sighing, now even more distraught, Jo moaned, “I don’t know what I want! That’s why I called you – I’m so confused, Mom. I can’t make a decision. I’m scared and confused and angry at myself for both – this fucking sucks,” she complained.

“No need for that language, love,” her mother replied gently.

“Mom….”

“Eloquence is its own reward,” Cecilia told her. Then, taking a breath, she offered, “How about this: you have until seven tonight to call them. If you don’t, I will. Just text me or add me to the call if you do, so I know. If not, I’ll add you to my call. Deal?”

A time limit. That might actually be just the kick she needed, Jo thought. She was used to timetables – do this by that time; check your schedule; learn this dance before this date; be here at this time; etc.

She’d been so right to call her mother about this, she thought.

Perking up, she agreed, “Good idea,” growing more confident now that she had the issue in a frame she recognized. “Thanks, Mom. You’re brilliant.”

“That’s what happens when your IQ is one-eighty-four,” Cecilia replied, smug.

“Gotta love the modesty in our family,” Jo comment dryly.

“You’re just as bad.”

“If not worse – that was my point.”

Cecilia chuckled. “Alright, I need to hurry up and get going. Don’t stress yourself out over this, okay, love? Keep your head focused, your emotions in check, and remember….”

When her mother paused, Jocelyn ventured, confused, “Remember…?”

Cecilia deadpanned, “Always eat your Wheaties.”

Jo snorted. “That’s a terrible joke, Mom.”

“Yeah, well, I learned from the worst.”

Julian, of course – that’d been one of his jokes, once upon a time, made all the more ridiculous because at no point had they ever had Wheaties in the house.

They said their goodbyes then, mother and daughter, and Jocelyn rushed through getting ready for class. Lucky for her ballet taught a girl how to wash and dress very quickly and efficiently; she was cleaned up, dressed, and ready to go in under ten minutes. And as she exited the bedroom at last, she spotted Raphael and his brothers grouped up, talking low.

They paused when she stepped foot into the main chamber, giving her curious, hesitant looks. She couldn’t help a strained smile, thinking how stressed they must be thanks to her stress over all this. Even Mikey was being quiet, she noted.

Raphael hopped over a railing to approach her, checking, “Feelin’ better?”

He looked bright-eyed and awake, she saw. Must not be suffering from how she’d kept him up all night.

Too bad she didn’t feel the same, she mused, thinking she should probably chug some coffee on the way to class or she’d be sluggish all day.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “What was all that chatting?”

“Figurin’ out how t’do a blood test, if it comes t’that,” he answered, pulling her in and cupping her face. The way he looked at her was concerned, obviously worrying over her lack of sleep.

Ignoring that – or, more accurately, being sidelined by the information he’d just given her – she sent Donnie a smile. “Let me know how that goes,” she told him. If he found a way to suppress her mutagen or mask it, some way that she could get a formal blood test done without revealing the alien DNA in her….

Well, it’d be the discovery of the century, she thought.

He nodded. “Sure. Don’t be late,” he advised. Those words seemed to give him an idea, because he suddenly perked up and dove into his lab, distracted.

She gave a chuckle. “Ooookay.”

Raphael chose then to start petting her hair – already up in a bun – checking, “You gonna be okay today?”

Smiling, touched by his concern, she nodded. “Yeah. Had a good chat with Mom. She said I have until seven p.m. to call Laini and Alex, otherwise she’s gonna do it for me. Gives me plenty of time to work up my nerves.”

With a strained smile, he noted, “Kinda weird hearin’ you gotta work up your nerves at all.”

“Yeah, well, it’s weird for me, too,” she sighed. “But there we have it.”

“I’m surprised this means so much t’ya. You used to say it didn’t matter.”

Wincing, she admitted, “Yeah, well, I was a year younger then, going off a decision I made when I was an angtsy pre-teen. It’s amazing how much your perspective can change in such a short time,” she mused.

Nodding, he accepted that.

Leo cut in then, saying, “You should get going. With traffic the way it is this morning you’re going to be late if you don’t leave now.”

Huffing a little at the prospect of weaving through bumper-to-bumper traffic, Jo gave him a quick thank-you and then headed out. Other than stopping at a Starbucks for a mochaccino, she went straight to her college, contemplating the path ahead of her as she went.

_Dad. Kidnapped. Matautia. Grandparents._

Along with the phone number she’d memorized out of sheer panic, these thoughts circled around in her mind, making it difficult to focus. She made it to her building without too much trouble, luckily, but once there she was consistently out of step. Her instructors noticed but despite trying various tactics to get her back into step, it never really took.

“Family issues,” she explained.

They had her take an earlier break than the others to settle her mind, and she spent the time working on her stretches, irritated with herself. This was starting to affect her life – clearly she needed to get it settled before it got her kicked out. After all, despite all her years of practice and now the mutagen in her blood, she was still clawing her way up the ranks from the bottom rung.

She told herself it was just an “off” day, but couldn’t help thinking that professionals didn’t have off days. She needed to get it together.

Eyes sliding towards Cassie, she thought, _A burden shared is a burden halved._

As soon as they were released for lunch, the two practically conjoined, Cassie concerned with Jo’s behavior and Jo frustrated with herself.

“Hey,” she prompted, “remember how my heritage test came back and said my dad was Polynesian?”

Cassie smirked at that, replying, “And how fitting it is considering your tattoo is Polynesian?”

That gave the blonde pause. She hadn’t thought of that, but now she realized Cassie was totally right. Granted, she’d picked the design because she’d found it aesthetically pleasing, not because of any ethnic instincts being involved, but still. And it made her all the more glad that they’d researched every aspect of the tattoo to ensure it fit in a culturally acceptable way.

Hopefully her grandparents wouldn’t be offended by it.

Focusing back on the subject at hand, she pulled Cassie aside to explain the whole story as they dug into lunch (which, per their schedule, Cassie had provided; it was Wednesday, after all). And, she saw, the redhead looked shocked, then sorrowful, as Jo told the tale.

“I mean,” she finished, “we don’t _know_ if that baby was Dad – we need a blood test to confirm it. But Donnie’s positive and me head’s all….” She waved her hands in frantic motions on either side of her skull to mime how messy and confused her thoughts had become.

“….Overwhelmed?” Cassie offered.

Nodding, Jo agreed, “Half of me is like….I _need_ this to be true. But the other half is more like, what if it is? So much could change….”

“Or nothing at all,” Cassie pointed out. When Jo gave her a curious look, she explained, “Best case scenario, you get grandparents who may or may not have an extended family, but either way, they live in Hawaii. Not like they’ll be coming down to visit every weekend. You’ll have more people you can call and send holiday cards to, but ultimately it won’t affect your life, would it? You’ll still come to class, work your feet to the bone, help white girls – like me,” she added, coughing, “learn to dress, still dance in performances….and, most importantly, you still have Raphael, right?”

Heartened, Jo smiled, accepting that. “Excellent points. Thanks, sis,” she said, giving Cassie a hug.

“Anytime,” Cassie returned, grinning. Then, withdrawing, she added more seriously, “Now just promise me one thing.”

Intrigued, Jo waited for her to finish, already poised to agree regardless of what the request was.

And Cassie deadpanned, “You’ll be patient with me while I struggle to pronounce your dad’s birth name.”

Jocelyn laughed. By now she’d gotten really good at saying what she _thought_ was the correct pronunciation, so she walked Cassie through it, one syllable at a time.

Soon lunch was over and they had to get back to class, and the talk had done a great deal of help, as it turned out. Suddenly Jo was back in sync, having only the expected amount of issues keeping up – far from a surprise, considering they were working on a new routine.

Afterwards the two women went out together, prowling a mall and idly shopping. Not much caught her eye today, but when she spotted a clothing outlet, she suddenly recalled the….event….at her work last night and immediately told Cassie all about it, even giving details that she hadn’t given Raphael. Unsurprisingly, the redhead was pissed – and she had a great idea.

“Hey, so,” Cassie prompted, “it usually takes a couple months for a case to hit the courts, right?”

Curious where this was going, Jo nodded, agreeing, “Unless there’s a settlement, yeah. And even then it depends on the court, the crime, the city, whatever. So?”

“So, if it takes long enough,” Cassie hinted, “your mom might be able to be the prosecutor. You could claim a discrimination case and she could represent you.”

Jo had an admittedly evil-sounding laugh at the idea. “That’s brilliant. And that reminds me, I haven’t told Mom about that yet.” She tisked. “Oh, she’s gonna freak.”

“As is her right, I’d say,” Cassie agreed, smirking.

“Mm-hmm,” Jo hummed. “But that’ll have to wait a while. Want to focus on making that call tonight.”

“You said you have until seven?”

“Yep.”

“Just an hour and a half left.”

“Yep.”

“One-point-five hours.”

“Yep.”

“Ninety minutes.”

“Yyyyep.”

“Five thousand, four hundred seconds.”

“Five thousand, three hundred and ninety-nine….”

“Jo,” Cassie sighed. “Why’re you still procrastinating over this? You keep saying you want to do it….”

Gaze dropping, the blonde admitted, “Because it’s….scary. I never really had a family, y’know? I mean, aside from you and yours,” she corrected, gesturing Cassie. “But even with you, it’s just….not the same. I have no aunts or uncles, no cousins, no nieces or nephews. And now I might have grandparents, they might have more kids, and their kids might have kids. I could really have cousins I’d never known about,” she hinted.

And she couldn’t decide if that was more exciting or terrifying. What kind of people would they be? Would they accept her or reject her? How much, if at all, would her life change from this phone call?

Reaching out, Cassie took her hands, snagged her gaze, and offered, “How about this: I want you to make the call. We can do it right here, right now. I’ll hold you in my lap if it’ll help.”

That pulled a dry laugh out of Jocelyn. “Thanks, Cassie. I might just take you up on that.”

“On one condition,” the redhead added sharply. “You have to dial the number. Right now. You have it?”

Biting her lips, Jo nodded, then glanced around for a place to sit. Finding a good, secluded spot, she and Cassie shoved themselves down into a slightly-wide armchair, squashed together and legs tangling, as Jo fished out her phone.

The first thing she did was send a text to Raphael, telling him that she didn’t know when she’d be back and why. Then she sent a second text to her mother, asking directions on how to make a conference call. Once she had that figured out, she took a steadying breath, fought against her pounding heart, and input the number Donnie had given her.

It still took her several moments to hit the ‘call’ buttons, her nerves ramped up so much higher that she was starting to shake, but she freaking did it.

Now all she had to do was not hang up as soon as the other line picked up.

It took an amusingly long time for the call to connect, several seconds ticking by before the rings started. Then, breath catching, Jo listened to the rings with a growing sense of terror.

Damn it, where was her backbone when she needed it most?!

After a trio of ring – during which time Jo reflexively clung to Cassie’s hand for support – a young, feminine voice answered, “Aloha?”

Hah. She’d said ‘aloha’, Jo thought, kind of dumbfounded by that. Shoving that aside, she forced past her crowded throat, “H-hello, is this the….Matautia household?”

There was a soft laugh. “Yeah. What’s that accent, New York?” the voice asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Jo agreed, then swallowed. “I’m looking for Laini or Alex?”

Again the female laughed. “Lah-ee-nee,” she corrected.

Oh. _Oh_. Jo had been pronouncing it _lay-nee_ this whole time. Whoops. Embarrassed, she agreed sharply, “Right, _Lah-ee-nee_. I’m sorry, that’s on me. So, who is this…?”

“Leila,” the woman answered, pronouncing “lay-lah”. “Who’s calling?” she demanded.

Right, that’d be the smart way to start a conversation of potentially life-changing content. “Jocelyn, Jocelyn Delaghy,” Jo told her.

“Yeah? And which company you working for?”

Jo laughed. Leila thought she was a telemarketer or something? Well, she mused, she had kind of come off like that. “Myself,” she answered. “This is kind of sensitive, so can you get either Laini or Alex for me? It’s very important.”

“Yeah, sure. Lemme get Grandma.” The phone was audibly put down, the woman’s voice calling for ‘grandma’ as she walked away.

Jo was glad for the break, seeing as how the revelation she’d just been given left her thunderstruck. Sending a shocked glance at Cassie, she whispered, “She said she’ll go get grandma….”

Brows lifting, Cassie ventured, “Wait, so – a cousin of yours?”

Heart racing, Jo nodded, though she hedged, “M-maybe….” Then she heard the phone being handled and for a moment she felt like her heart _stopped_.

“Hello?” came an older but pleasant female voice.

Hesitating, Jo exhaled a shaky breath, then checked, “Laini Matautia?”making sure to pronounce it right. 

“Yes,” the voice confirmed. “Who’s calling? Leila said it was sensitive…?”

“M-my name is Jocelyn Delaghy, and I….this might come as a shock,” she hurried, “but I have….possible news. About your….your missing son?”

There was a lengthy pause, then a rustle of movement and the wooden creak of a chair. Now sounding breathless, Laini ventured, “W-who is this?”

Figuring she may as well be blunt, Jo answered softly, “Well, if I’m right….I’m your granddaughter.” And, holy _shit,_ those words were both hard to say and strangely liberating. The truth, insofar as she knew it, was out, now.

And she could finally let go of her nerves – or most of them, anyway. She couldn’t shake a sensation of dizziness or stop her leg from shaking (Cassie had whapped her leg multiple times already to get her to stop but it just wasn’t sticking) as she waited for a response.

Almost immediately, Jo hard Laini give a strangled sob. Jo couldn’t blame her; she was starting to feel a burning wetness to her own eyes, and she leaned against Cassie for some support as she waited for Laini to reply.

On the other end, Laini suddenly started calling out in (what Jocelyn thought was) Hawaiian. The only word she could pick out was ‘Alex’; Laini was calling for her husband, then?

 _….My grandfather,_ Jo thought, startled by the sudden epiphany. She couldn’t help wondering if he looked like her dad.

Jo waited with bated breath, a weird warmth spreading through her now that the initial fear was over. In its place, she felt anticipation, unable to help hoping for some great, grand reward from all this.

Soon she caught an older male’s voice, annoyed, responding in Hawaiian, and a short argument.

Then, very clearly, Jocelyn heard Laini murmur, _“Enoka.”_

The man – Alex, she assumed – went quiet for a long moment. Taking the phone, he demanded, “What was your name?”

“Jocelyn,” both Jo and Laini answered, surprising Jo. She’d heard the woman so clearly; had the call been put on speaker?

“Most people call me Jo,” she added carefully, unsure if informality would be helpful or not in this situation.

There was a brief, breathing-heavy pause, and then he asked, “How did you find us?”

He didn’t outright believe her. That was understandable, she thought; after waiting forty years, she might not have believed herself in his shoes.

“My boyfriend’s brother,” she answered. Then she told the story, such as she knew it: the day after little newborn Enoka had been kidnapped, a baby had been found on the doorstep of a nearby firehouse. An orphanage took him in and, not knowing his heritage, marked him down as “Latino”.

The baby had been adopted by Percy Delaghy, at the time a forty-two-year-old single father. The baby was renamed and raised as Julian Delaghy. Jocelyn’s mother, Cecilia, was two years his junior and they met each other in high school, then married right after graduation. Two years later, Jocelyn was conceived and born.

And seven years following, Julian was diagnosed with lung cancer after passing out at work. Two months of struggle later he lost the battle. His ashes remained in an urn in Cecilia’s room, where it’d been moved after Jocelyn had moved out.

By this point in the story Laini couldn’t talk anymore; Jo could hear her quietly crying in the background.

Alex gave a soft, disappointed sigh. “I see. And you discovered this through your boyfriend?” he checked.

“My boyfriend’s brother,” she corrected. “He’s a detective,” she lied, “so he was able to take the clues I got from my heritage test and stitch them together. But, I mean, we’re pretty sure your Enoka is my dad, but we’d have to take a DNA test to confirm it.”

There was a pause, the silence interrupted only by Laini’s continued crying, and then Alex said, “Okay. We need to talk, so can I call you back?”

“Yeah, of course,” she answered. Then, sharply, she added, “Oh, I forgot, but my mom wants to talk to you, too. She wants to do a conference call. Is that okay?” Jo had actually forgotten to do it before now, she’d been so caught up in the conversation. She’d have to apologize to her mother.

Alex agreed, and then they swapped information. Aside from confirming phone numbers, Jo learned both elders had Skype accounts so they could talk to their family, some of whom lived in California. She gave them her Skype name, too, and once the line died, she turned to Cassie, feeling both overwhelmed and drained at once.

Cassie was smiling, her eyes wet, clearly happy with the turnout. Inclining her head towards the exit, she checked, “Cecilia?”

Nodding, Jo got up, a rush of emotion hitting her now that the call was over. Struggling to hold back tears, she just followed Cassie out of the mall, leaving her motorcycle behind so she could ride passenger with Cassie back to her mother’s apartment – and cry on the way. She’d pick up her vehicle later.

Cecilia was home by then and, as soon as the girls were inside, Jocelyn all but tackled her, needing her mother’s support. Cassie snorted at the picture they made, though – Jocelyn, five-ten and in heels, hanging on her five-two mother. It probably looked hilarious.

Cecilia wasn’t fazed, though; she just straightened her back and gave what comfort she could to her giant of a daughter.

They logged into Jocelyn’s Skype account on Cecilia’s laptop, and Cassie busied herself with some impromptu ballet practice to give them privacy. It took some time for the awaited call to happen, during which time Jocelyn filled in Cecilia on the previous call. When they finally got the alert, Skype’s ringtone blaring and declaring it a video call, they shared a glance.

“Here we go,” Cecilia said, giving Jo a smile.

Jocelyn, being on her mother’s right, clicked the ‘accept’ button, the screen quickly taken up by another home.

The scene was adorably typical of an older generation’s home: lots of decorations and knick-knacks, mostly wooden and wicker, and a bookcase and armchair was fading fabric in sight. A man and woman sat in the camera’s sight, and they shifted to balance their visages.

Both were fully greyed, practically identical to Jocelyn in skin tone, and had pleasant, loving lines aging their faces. The woman’s hair was a short, curly mass, the man’s held back in a low tie. Their outfits, though cut off, showed a thin-strapped top plastered in multi-colored exotic flowers for her; a loose, beige shirt with button up the front was his.

They stared for a long moment, then broke into smiles. Laini’s eyes watered. Jo quickly took Cecilia’s hand, squeezing tight – needing her mother’s support right then.

Because Laini had _green eyes._ All at once, Jocelyn finally understood from whom she’d inherited them.

The event that followed could best be summarized as chaotic. All four participants did a lot of speaking over one another, trying to delve for information as well as unload thoughts, emotions and stories in a jumble of criss-crossing sentences. Sometimes there were tears. Sometimes there were laughs.

Strangely, it never felt unpleasant. Jocelyn wasn’t scared anymore – but she _was_ worried. What if, after all this, the DNA test came back negative? What if there weren’t her grandparents and Enoka wasn’t Julian? What if all the similarities she kept seeing turned out to be coincidence? Worse, what if she’d opened up old wounds only to give them false positives, ultimately doing nothing but harm?

What if?

Eventually another girl learned into the frame, inserting herself into the conversation with a smirk. Her hair was dark and long and curly and looked just like Jocelyn’s, only their colors differing. And her eyes were so dark they looked fully black.

Jo kind of liked that.

Laini introduced her as Leila. Jocelyn’s cousin. She was “almost seventeen” – a point she drove him viciously in the first minute of conversation. Jo recognized that haughty teenage attitude but didn’t say anything about it, both amused and embarrassed over her own similar declarations.

Once, Cecilia had said, _You’re not even eighteen yet!_

And Jo, the stubborn hardhead, had responded, _Six months!_

Hah, oh, yeah, she felt ridiculous looking back on that, now.

As it turned out, Laini and Alex had four more children. Julian had been their first but far from their last; they had two more girls after him and then twins girls in the years following, resulting in four now adult women. Their names were Alana, Malia, Naomi and Kelly. All but one was married and the last was engaged, their ages ranging from thirty-eight to twenty-nine.

Between them they had nine children – Jocelyn had _nine_ cousins. She almost cried, hearing that, and Cecilia was little better. Leila was the eldest of the nine, but with Jo included as number ten she was now the eldest of Alex and Laini’s grandchildren. It was a very heavily moving discovery; even Cecilia had to take a moment to collect herself, and Laini was outright crying, a handkerchief kept in hand at all times.

When the trio asked Jocelyn what she did for a living, she answered, “I have a part-time job in a clothing store, but I’m also going to ballet college.”

Intrigued, they asked to see something, and Cecilia moved aside so Jo could have the spotlight. Stepping back, she did a stretch first to ensure she wouldn’t pull anything, then did a series of fouettes. She couldn’t quite hop up on her toes in her current heels, though, so she ended up traveling a lot in the course of the moves. Of course, only she and Cecilia recognized that. Everyone else thought she was amazing.

And yes, she totally preened on the inside from the praise.

She received a round of applause from her viewers, then watched as Leila – also a dancer, but of hula and poi variety – put on a similar performance, using a beaded necklace of hers as an improvised poi.

The call lasted almost two hours before Jo’s phone rang, pulling her away from the Skype call to check on it. Raphael, unsurprisingly.

“So,” he ventured when she answered, “how’s things?”

She could hear the concern in his voice and it touched her. _Sweetheart,_ she thought. He so badly wanted things to go well for her and she loved him all the more for it.

“Pretty good,” she answered, smiling. “I was in the middle of a video call with Laini and Alex–”

“Lah-ee-nee?” he interrupted, confused.

She gave a soft laugh. “Yeah, turns out I was saying it wrong before. Anyway, yeah, Mom and me were talking to them over Skype. I have Laini’s eyes,” she informed him. “And, uh, I have a cousin named Leila. She’s a dancer, too,” she murmured, still riding a weird high from that discovery.

He chuckled. “I’m sensin’ a theme, here,” he observed.

“Mm,” she agreed. “I….I actually have four aunts and nine cousins. How crazy is that?” she breathed, emotion making her throat crowd and her eyes water. It was so bizarre, like all the family she _didn’t_ have on her mother’s side had been in hiding on her father’s side this whole time.

Raphael was shocked. “Nine? Holy – yeah, you gotta tell them to put on the brakes,” he commented.

She chuckled. “I dunno, I kinda like the idea that I have a surprise family with lots of members. It’ll take a while to get to know them all, but….worth it, y’know?”

He gave a soft grunt in agreement, then said, “So, what’s the plan now? Stayin’ with yer mom?”

Jesus, he sounded so reluctant, she thought, amused. “No, I’ll come home soon,” she assured him. “After that, though? Dunno. We haven’t got to the part of the conversation where we try to figure out the long-term of this yet.”

“I say if they wanna meet ya, they come down here,” he declared, firm.

Basically: _you ain’t goin’ nowhere._ He was so cute sometimes, she thought. He’d do anything to keep her in arm’s length – had already tried in various arguments, including complaining when she’d initially expressed a desire to work and pouting when she told him she was absolutely still going to ballet college. Just because she opted to stay in New York instead of fly to Paris didn’t mean she was giving up on her dream.

What had he been thinking, that she was going to quit a decade’s worth of dancing to sit at home and wait for him to get back from life-endangering patrols every night? _Hah!_ She hadn’t spent the last thirteen years teaching her body how to bend and twist in unnatural ways to _not_ become a world-renowned performer.

“We’ll see,” she finally offered, smirking. “But if it goes the other way, don’t pout – you can always come with me.”

He snorted. “Right, I’m sure Hawaii, the state of no-sewers-anywhere, is a great place for a mutant to visit. I’m sure no one’ll freak over the six foot talkin’ turtle.”

Ignoring his sarcasm, she returned, “As far as I can tell, Polynesian culture is full of talking animals, so I’m sure it’d go fine. You might even get revered as a demigod or something. But, hey, if you’d rather sit at home with lovesick Mikey the whole time–”

He groaned. “Yeah, fine, wha’ever,” he grumbled. “I’ll think about it. But I still say they outta come up here!”

Chuckling, she pointed out, “It’s almost fall, they might freeze to death, y’know.”

“Wussies.”

“Raphael,” she warned.

“I’m kiddin’,” he defended. Then, with an audible pout, he muttered, “Jus’ don’t wanna apart from you for so long, babe.”

 _Aww._ “Feeling’s mutual,” she murmured, pleased. “But it might not come to that. Like I said, we’ll see how it goes. Now behave,” she ordered, “and when I get back, I’ll have a nice reward for you.”

He hummed at that, a happy sound that she liked to think was his audible variant of churring. It sounded more like a growl, to be honest. “Don’t be too long,” he purred, his voice sounding like pure velvet right then.

Ugh, sexy bastard….

“Just for that, I’m staying out longer than I was gonna,” she replied smartly.

He huffed.

“No complaining,” she warned, “or I’ll make it the whole night.”

Groaning, he bit out, “Yer gonna kill me.”

“Actually,” she murmured, intentionally trying to mimic that silky tone he’d just used, “I’m gonna make you come alive.”

The way he sucked in a breath told her she couldn’t have chosen a more seductive phrase if she’d had a year to think on it.

“Wait up for me,” she directed on a low purr.

His only response was a low, guttural growl, a sound so needy it sent an answering pulse all through her body. God damn, she was so addicted to him, she thought. Leaving the call there, she hung up, texted him a heart, then headed back to the laptop.

“What’d I miss?” she demanded as she cut into the conversation.


	56. First Reunion

**Rating:** PG (swearing)

* * *

* * *

* * *

A few weeks after that first phone call, Jocelyn received an invitation: fly down to Hawaii and spend a few days with her _grandparents_. 

This followed Donnie working out how to get a DNA comparison done – namely by having Laini and Alex get blood tests and email him copies while Jo got copies of her own from the last time she’d been in the hospital. 

They matched. 

She really was their granddaughter. 

Getting the confirmation utterly wrecked Jocelyn. She lost it, absolutely breaking down and bawling where she stood; Raphael had to carry her to their room while she recovered. The whole time she’d been crying, she’d also been talking – recounting how overwhelming this was and how she never thought she’d find her father’s family or have cousins or aunts or uncles, and now she had literal _dozens_. 

She was _pretty_ sure her boyfriend had cried, too, but she’d been too lost in emotion to check and by the time she stopped she found no evidence of it on his face. 

Sneaky ninja. 

Following that came a tearful phone call to her mother, then a trip down to the apartment so they could have another Skype call with her grandparents – _her real grandparents!_ – and share the good news. 

Alex, Jo had learned, was a very stern kind of man. Much like Raphael, he didn’t show his emotions often, and seemed a lot like he was acting as Laini’s bodyguard and emotional pillar constantly. And yet, when Jo told them that the DNA test came back positive, he kept verging on breaking down and having to stop and compose himself off-camera. 

This was as important to him as it was to Laini, Jo and Cecilia, clearly. 

And now they wanted Jo to come down to Hawaii – not because they couldn’t come to New York, but because Jocelyn had never been. As far as trips went, she’d been to Florida twice and that was it (once when she was five to visit Disney World with her parents and once when she was sixteen, on a summer vacation with six of her friends). 

She’d always wanted to see more of the world but had never really been driven enough to do so. Seeing Hawaii would be incredible. 

And so, after working out schedules with her job and school (which had finally finished the summer course and officially accepted her – and Cassie! Hype!! – as part of the troupe), she got a full six days free, purchased round-trip tickets, and now was just waiting for her flight day to reach her. 

She was scheduled to leave on November 20th and return on the 25th. Cecilia had taken vacation days as well (unpaid, as she’d already used up her two weeks earlier in the year) to join Jo on the trip, turning the reunion into something truly great. 

Jo could scarcely believe it was happening. Though it was still a ways away, she found herself counting the days with an increasing sense of anticipation. But…with it came worry; what if she disappointed her family? What if they didn’t like her? What if it turned out they were part of a doomsday cult and tried to get her to join? 

There were so many unknowns, so much to discover. The meeting could go any of a thousand directions – and she had six days to spend in new territory around total strangers. 

Six days to have what was potentially the best or worst event of her life. 

She wasn’t the only one worried, either; Raphael had a lot of concerns of his own. He voiced them more often than she did, though – to the point of paranoia. The amount of “what ifs” he gave…it was almost comical. In the end, the sheer ridiculousness of his crazy theories calmed her rather than getting her even more tense. 

What if a volcano erupted and she got caught in it? What if a tsunami flooded the island? What if a mosquito bit her and gave her malaria? What if her cousins were all nutso and held her prisoner? What if she was forced into a wedding with a stranger? 

What if, indeed. 

The last one made her laugh. If she didn’t mind being unable to marry the man she loved, what did she care if she was forced to marry someone else? It wouldn’t stop her – she’d ignore him and stay with Raphael regardless. Marriage meant nothing to her unless the one she married was _him –_ not that she was ready for marriage or anything. Just, you know, she had her priorities set up already.  

But the fact that he was worried about that was super cute, she thought. She made sure to tease him a lot more than usual as a reward (setting up the framework for an _amazing_ retaliation from him later). 

To keep herself distracted, Jocelyn focused on Halloween for the entire month of October. It was too soon for her college to put on a show, but they decided to do a fun kind of event anyhow, something involving trick-or-treaters. When the instructors were going through ideas, she and Cassie talked about their characters in the past. 

Aside from Jo’s reanimated ballerina character, Cassie frequently did a similar thing, her character being a kind of harlequin ballerina. Her outfit was covered in colorful diamonds and patterns and her makeup typically including painting her face half in blue and half in white with opposite-color diamonds on each cheek. 

The instructors liked both characters and approved of them, giving the women free reign to use those costumes again. Jo was asked to not include the hanging eyeball she’d used last year, given they expected only children to attend their event, but otherwise they were fine with the undead ballerina. 

Which meant Jo went right home, unearthed the costume, and got to work on it. She’d thought of a few changes since last year and was determined to make it better than ever. 

This coincided with the turtles working on _their_ costumes, too, which they’d on-and-off been talking about for most of September. Their final choices: Leo was a Predator/Yautja, Donnie was Chewbacca, Raph was a marine from Starcraft, and Mikey picked Bumblebee (largely because of the Halloween parade he’d jumped into when he was sixteen; Jo cracked up when she was told that story). 

The five of them worked on their stuff together – though Mikey complained the entire time about being apart from Lisa and checked his phone obsessively; apparently she had a really big payday down the road so she was spending a whole month working on a set of mixes – with Jo sometimes going out to purchase supplies and Splinter sometimes lending a hand. 

By the time Halloween rolled around, the costumes were looking _fantastic_. She could easily mistake them for professional, movie-grade practical effects. 

Then Lisa showed up and Jo was literally pulled out of bed with her lover – things had _just_ been getting steamy and Raph was _really_ annoyed about that, but when Mikey explained what he wanted (her help making a cat costume for Lisa), Jo was _all over that_. 

The suit was done in twenty-four hours, thanks largely to Mikey working on it all night and Jo going out with Lisa for additional supplies, and then Lisa tried it on for them to admire. 

Mikey often said that Lisa was “cute ‘n sexy”, and Jo had to agree; the other woman had a killer body and an adorable disposition, and her black-and-pink cat costume flaunted both. 

Soon Halloween struck, and the next morning Jo was treated to a series of texts from Cassie. The gist: after Jo and Raph had abandoned the rest of the group, Leo had walked Cassie home, ending the trip with a kiss. Cassie had been so pumped nearly every single one of her texts contained at least three typos and multiple exclamation marks. 

Everything was going _perfect_. Jo couldn’t be happier with her life (especially with her slowly repairing eyesight and lack of obsessive counting), Lisa and Mikey were clearly in love with each other, she had an entire family she was set to meet in less than a month, Cecilia was on the road to becoming a certified lawyer, the kid’s Halloween show at her ballet college had gone so well that nearly a dozen kids promised to take up ballet _that night_ , and now Cassie and Leo were together? 

Jocelyn spent a long time that morning just fighting off the urge to scream and cry at the same time. 

This, of course, meant she was even more tense during the month of November. She kept expecting to be hit by harrowing news – something like her father’s family home getting blown away by a hurricane so they had to cancel the reunion or her mother getting into a car accident on her way to work. 

To her great relief, none of that occurred; instead, despite the growing number of knots in her belly, the 20th arrived with no great hurdles marring its approach. Other than a surprise birthday party on the 12th from Cassie and her friends followed by a private party with her lover and his family, the days just passed by in a calm sequence of repetition. 

And then the day arrived. 

She kissed her boyfriend goodbye (he was notably _not_ panicking, a fact that left her extremely suspicious), got into a taxi, and met her mother at the airport. Together they went through the check (Cecilia nearly got extra screening but she talked her way out of it like a pro), found their gate, boarded, and spent the next _eleven hours_ alternating between talking, napping, and amusing themselves any way they could. 

They ended up reading books they’d brought: Donnie’s gift of _20,000 Leagues Under The Sea_ for Cecilia and Misty Copeland’s _Ballerina Body_ for Jocelyn. Powerful reader that she was, Cecilia finished her book in under three hours…then started it over again, since they hadn’t landed yet. 

It was during the final hour of the flight that Jocelyn put away her book, too knotted up to keep reading at this point. Her mother noticed, of course, and did the same, putting her book back in her travel satchel. 

Then, reaching out to clasp Jo’s hand, Cecilia checked, “Nervous?” 

_Visibly_ so, Jo thought, eying her trembling hands. But rather than answer that, she commented, “Did I ever mention that Donnie thinks I don’t get my hair and skin combination from you and Dad, but from my 5% Melanesian heritage?” 

“Does he?” Cecilia asked, going with the change in subject easily. “What makes him think so?” 

“I’m a black blonde,” Jo answered, giving her a look. “So are the majority of the Melanesian people, I think. He thinks those genes in you just happened to get selected when I was developing, and now, here I am – I look like you and I have Dad’s curls and Laini’s eyes, but my hair color and skin don’t match either of you.” 

Cecilia nodded to herself, thoughtful, before replying, “You know, I always thought you were just a mutant.” When Jo laughed, Cecilia added firmly, “I’m serious! Where do you think blonde hair and blue eyes came from, anyway? Mutants, that’s where.” 

“Oh, the irony,” Jo said dryly, thinking of her boyfriend. He was a forced mutant; she was a natural one? Wouldn’t that be a kicker? 

“It happens,” Cecilia told her. “You’d be surprised just how often, too.” 

“I’m sure,” Jo chuckled. 

The conversation continued from there to some Greek stories (Jocelyn wasn’t surprised), successfully keeping her distracted until their descent began. That was when her nerves kicked back up again – and when she noticed that her mother was just as tightly strung as she was. 

It heartened her; Cecilia was playing tough, going out of her way to keep Jo calm while she was obviously nervous, too. Seeing her mother’s knuckles nearly crack through her skin from how tightly she was holding her armrests spurred Jo on to provide the same series of distractions, demanding to know more about Apollo and Theseus and Danae until they’d touched down. 

The disembarking process was _achingly_ slow, unfortunately, giving both women ample time to stress themselves over the coming meeting. They both started trading texts with Laini and Alex, giving and receiving information, but it still took so long that Jo started toying with her hair just to have something to do. 

She’d put a few little braids in to keep it pulled back behind her shoulders, and now she undid them from straight nerves. 

Then she received a wholly different text – from her beau: 

[landed yet?]

Smiling, she replied, [Just a few minutes ago. Soon!!] 

[kiss ur prettyest cuz 4 me]

[For you, I’ll french ‘em.]

[u spoil me ❤️] 

Damn right, she did. But she replied, [You? Oh, yeah, I forgot. I was gonna do it for me. Get something freaky going while you’re not here to stop me. ;P] 

[bad girl] 

[Punish me. ❤️] 

[dont tempt me] 

[Oh, I will. Mercilessly.] 

[roundabout, babe. watch out 4 it]

[Promises, promises…] 

The banter didn’t last much longer before they were finally released from their seats, allowed to step off the plane. In that time, Jocelyn made a discovery: she wasn’t nervous anymore. 

Oh, no – now she was _excited_. Heart pounding and attention focused, all the fear had fallen away. Because she’d swapped texts with Raphael? Maybe, maybe not; either way she was suddenly _ready_ for what was on the horizon. 

It didn’t take long for the mother-daughter duo to find who they were looking for. Laini and Alex Matautia were waiting at Baggage Claim, and Jocelyn spotted them first, halting in place the instant she recognized them. Considering she was also holding her mother’s hand, Cecilia almost tripped when she was tugged back a step; she turned a startled look to Jocelyn. 

“What’s–?” she started, only to fall silent when she saw the look on Jo’s face. 

The blonde was verging on tears just from having spotted her grandparents, and for a long moment she could barely compute what she was seeing. Cecilia had a similar reaction once she followed her daughter’s gaze and recognized the older couple, her eyes swimming in moments. 

Then, giving Jo a warm smile, Cecilia prompted, “Let’s go say ‘hi’.” 

Jocelyn smiled back, then stepped onwards towards what was equally the most exciting and terrifying moment of her life. 

Laini was the first to notice – and recognize – Jo; not a hard feat, considering she was one of the tallest people in sight, had chosen heeled sandals for the trip, _and_ was a deeply-tanned blonde with flowing curls. Her hair, alone, heralded her approach. 

And her grandmother lifted a hand to her mouth, snagged Alex’s arm, and held Jo’s gaze as the mother-daughter couple strode up to them. 

A part of Jo wanted to call them “grandma” and “grandpa”, but this was their first meeting and she didn’t want to overstep any boundaries until she knew it was okay. So instead, as she neared, she checked, “Mr. and Mrs. Matautia?” 

At once, tears began overflowing for Laini. She hurriedly retrieved a handkerchief to catch the moisture even as she brokenly replied, “J-Jo-celyn? M-Mrs. Delaghy?” 

Alex hadn’t reacted yet, but when Jo nodded in affirmation, he choked on a laugh and demanded, arms wide, “Well, come here!” 

As Jo stepped forward, she felt her mother release her hand, letting her have this first embrace all to herself. She took that freedom and ran with it, hooking her arms around each of her grandparents’ necks to hug them close, nestled against Alex’s shoulder. 

He was tall, she found – probably as tall as her father had been. Mikey’s height, she estimated, though with her heels on that was harder to determine. Laini, on the other hand, was somewhere between Cecilia and Lisa, and perfect for Jo to loop an arm around. 

A part of her recognized that this was something of a bizarre thing to notice, given the situation, but it was quickly swept aside as thought gave way to emotion. And Jo’s emotions demanded tears. 

She tried to fight it, honest to god; she didn’t last very long. Laini was openly sobbing against her, and when she heard Alex release a shaky, on-the-verge breath, Jo lost her battle. 

An odd mix of joy and sorrow filled her: sorrow for what she, her father, and _they_ had never had together, and joy for getting it _now_ , at long last. Hot, burning tears rolled down her cheeks, her breath constantly hitching as she continued to fight against wracking cries. 

Yet, strangely, she kept feeling an urge to laugh, too. She was hugging her father’s parents for the first time, after all, and it was one of the most moving moments of her life. 

Only one thing could make it better. 

Lifting her head, Jo turned her tear-stained face to Cecilia and held out a hand. Her mother was already clutching a wad of tissues to her cheeks, watching the touching reunion, but at the invitation _she_ lost it, too. 

With an audible cry, Cecilia dropped the tissues and stepped into the ring of arms, coming to squeeze herself between Jo and Laini. 

What followed was a series of short questions and answers from all four, choked out between shaky gasps and harsh exhales: 

“It’s so nice to finally meet you!” “You have to tell us about our Enoka, everything!” “Was the flight okay? Do you two need to rest?” “Pinch me – I’m dreaming, I know it!” “Are you hungry? We could stop somewhere.” “Here, let me help with your bags.” 

By the time they’d calmed enough to move on, Jocelyn was suddenly aware that they had an audience. Numerous people had paused their travels to stop and look, and she was _pretty_ sure at least one person had filmed it on a cell phone. She’d have to have Donnie check recent YouTube and Instagram videos for her… 

On their way to Laini and Alex’s vehicle – a large, dark green SUV – Jo mustered up the courage to ask, “S-so, um, I’ve been meaning to ask…what should I call you? Like, by your names, or…?” 

She didn’t need to elaborate, clearly; Laini gave her a watery smile, answering, “Whatever you’re most comfortable with. Both of you,” she added with a look to Cecilia. “No pressure, alright?” 

Nodding, Jo accepted that. Calling them “Mr. and Mrs. Matautia” had felt weird, but she thought going the “grandma and grandpa” route wouldn’t be any better. Maybe it was best to stick with _Laini_ and _Alex_ for now. 

Though she was feeling hyped from the meeting, that crashed as soon as she was seated, it seemed; practically the moment they pulled out of the airport’s streets, Jocelyn was _out_. She barely recognized her name being called, questions being asked, and vague laughter. Then her suddenly swimming mind was gone. 

* * *

When Jo started coming to again, she first perceived her mother’s voice as if from far away. 

“–sorry…she’s…sleeper,” was the most Jo heard. 

Then, strangely, she felt herself being moved and carried. Arms had banded around her, supporting her back and knees, and though a part of her wanted to get up and walk herself, she couldn’t shake off the lethargy enough to do so. 

Her first semi-coherent thought was that Raphael had her, and it took her several moments – halfway listening as booted feet went from stone to wood flooring – to realize why that felt wrong. Haha, silly – he hadn’t come. This was clearly someone else, and her drugged mind (somewhat tragically) seized on the idea that _Julian_ had her. 

Those strong arms, the tanned skin she could just see when she managed to crack open an eye; it was obviously her father. Even his smell matched. And though that thought, too, felt wrong, she was just groggy enough to accept it anyway. Her sleepy mind left her feeling like a seven-year-old again, safe in her father’s grasp, and she was happy to let the fantasy have her. 

At some point she was placed in a bed, her shoes removed, and a cover thrown over her. She even recognized her mother joining her, and then she was out again – with a vague sense of yearning for the arms that had left her. 

Her dreams, as usual, refused to resurface the instant she woke, but she got the impression it involved dinosaurs. Probably because she’d recently watched Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom just a few days prior, she thought. 

She was alone now, tucked into a bed with a curving, gold-tinted, metal frame. The room was adorable, she thought, with its white furniture, wood floors and Hawaiian floral decor along the tops of the walls. Two windows were placed on adjoining walls and both were open; she could hear waves rolling through them. 

She recalled the sun being high in the sky when she’d landed, but now only the tiniest hint of gold remained. The left-side window must be facing east, she thought, and the sight of it drew her over to look out. 

Her grandparents had told her they had a beachside view, but they’d also been quick to point out that pretty much _everyone_ had a beachside view when you lived on an island. Even so, Jocelyn found it breathtakingly beautiful, her eyes picking out everything she could. 

A small fire out on the beach suggested someone was there even now, but the distance was so great she could only made out silhouettes against the sand. Numerous bushes with large fronds framed everything, plants she didn’t know the names for, with only scarce palm trees in sight – a surprise, as she’d built this mental image of a palm tree wonderland. 

Though it was nearly winter, it felt like summer here. It was nothing like New York’s weather; the air felt clearer and so humid it was strangely tingly to her. Even now she could felt oddly strong winds, her hair and the drapes tossed with each gust and bathing her in wholly unfamiliar scents. 

She loved it. 

She was just considering hopping out of the window and running down to the water when she heard audible laughter from downstairs, startling her. _Haha, right, your family,_ she chided herself, feeling ridiculous for having forgotten that damn fast. 

As she readied to go downstairs, changing out of her travel clothes into something lighter, she kept getting flashes of memories from before her father died. Each one was so quick and vague she couldn’t recall exactly where they’d come from, but she kept seeing – and hearing – her father, in particular. She even suddenly remembered his smell, and the memory almost did her in; she had to pause, take a breath, and compose herself before she continued her dressing. 

In the end, when she was in a halter top, cotton shorts and sandals, she exited the room. Directly in front of her was a wall with a written note taped to it, and it made her give a surprised laugh. 

“Living room: downstairs to the right. Bathroom: room to your left. Grandma Laini,” it read. 

Jocelyn whined, a hand lifting to her heart automatically. _Grandma Laini._ A compromise, then? 

Another series of laughs from below tugged at her attention, and she recognized then that she was hearing more than just three people. Curious, excited and knotted with nerves, she headed towards the sound. 

Her steps down the stairs were quiet, but there was no hiding her descent; half the staircase was lacking a wall on its right side – the living room side. Silence filled the room as she reached the bottom, and she was treated to half a dozen gazes locked on her. 

The living room was _full_. A large corner couch, a loveseat, and two recliners were all packed with bodies. Cecilia had taken one recliner and a pair of young children were crammed into the other. Two women sat on the loveseat, one of them with a heavy, visibly pregnant belly. And the couch held Laini, Alex, Leila, another woman and man, a young boy and two toddlers in sundresses. 

“Hello…?” Jocelyn ventured. 

With a scream, Leila leapt up from her seat and threw herself at Jo, colliding with the taller girl and nearly knocking them both to the ground. It seemed to give the younger ones ideas, because suddenly the two little girls were clinging to Jo’s legs and laughing madly. The older boy on the couch, she saw, just looked away with a scowl. 

All of the unknown adults were giving her smiles, though, and she saw wet eyes and warmth on every one of them. 

Laini introduced with a gesture, “And here she is: Jocelyn Delaghy, our Enoka’s baby girl.” 

Alex tisked. “She’s not a baby, Laini.” 

Chuckles wound through the room; at the same time, Leila suddenly reached up and ran her fingers through Jo’s hair, cooing over it. 

“This is natural, you said?” she asked, clearly delighted. 

Laughing softly, Jo nodded. “Yep. Born with it, never changed.” 

“Leila,” Alex warned, “no grabbing. We talked about this.” 

Leila said something back in what Jocelyn assumed was Hawaiian; Alex looked annoyed, but everyone else apparently though it was funny. 

“Anyway,” Laini stressed, getting their attention. Standing up, she gestured Jo over; Leila and the unknown male peeled the girls off her legs so she could make the journey. 

Then, one by one, Laini introduced them: Malia and her wife, Evani, were the two on the loveseat. The boys crammed into the recliner were their sons, Aleki and Lasalo, and the slightly-older girl was their daughter, Natia. 

The man and woman on the couch were Naomi, Malia’s twin, and Enele, her husband. The boy beside Naomi was their son, Tataio, and the remaining girl was Lulu, their daughter. 

Jo was then informed that Alana, the eldest, was Leila’s mother and was currently in Korea with her husband and their other three children. They had plans to visit before Jocelyn and Cecilia had to return home. 

Kelly, the second-eldest, and her fiance couldn’t make it today but would be here in the morning, apparently. Alex’s parents, as well, would be coming down tomorrow; their names were Tau and Lalago – and Jo was starting to get overwhelmed with names. The house was set to get much, much louder, she thought. 

“Fair warning,” she told the room, “I’m going to forget all of this by tomorrow.” 

More laughter, then Malia offered, “We’ll remind you.” 

Then, in unison, Malia and Naomi stood and crossed over to her. Side-by-side, Jo could really see the resemblance; they clearly weren’t identical, but they matched anyway. 

And they looked remarkably like Julian, it was bizarre and a little painful. 

Feeling herself starting to tear up again, Jo quickly looked away; at once her aunts pulled her chin back up and embraced her tight. For the second time in one day, she broke down, outright sobbing as the sheer magnitude of this encounter overwhelmed her. 

There were ‘aww’s and strangled laughs and cries from all around her, including from her own mother. After a moment, too, she felt arms circle her waist from behind and a body lean against her, and she just knew it was Leila. 

And then a flash of light and an audible ‘click’ got their attention. Jo snapped her head up to find her grandfather was holding a disposable camera and grinning, and as the heavy moment dissolved into laughter, the flashes kept coming. 

Only one thing could’ve made this reunion better: if her father had been here to see it. And as those words crossed her mind, she found herself thinking…well, wasn’t he? A part of him was here, at least – in her. She was half her father (the “best half”, he’d always said), and that was important. 

In her mind, she made a little promise: _I’ll have fun for you, too, Dad._


	57. The Matautia Tribe

**Rating:** PG (swearing)

* * *

* * *

* * *

The night progressed in levity and warmth -- both literal and figurative. More and more Jocelyn found herself charmed by her father’s family; after a few hours she caught herself wishing he’d never been lost so he could’ve grown up with these wonderful people -- even knowing it would mean she never would’ve been born.

It felt like such a small sacrifice, really.

She expected her boyfriend would argue with that, though. She could just imagine him staunchly declaring that _nothing_ was more important than her life, and that thought led to another: here she was, surrounded by family and having the time of her life...

...and she was thinking about Raphael, missing him and imagining him being here with her. If she’d ever held a single doubt about how she felt for him, well, this would’ve confirmed it.

She also found, as the minutes slipped by, that she was checking on her mother more and more. A part of her was constantly aware of where Cecilia was and with whom she was speaking -- and how everyone was feeling. Jo _needed_ to know her mother was being accepted to an almost obsessive degree; her head kept turning of its own accord to spot Cecilia every few moments.

To her relief, both her mother and her relatives seemed to be meshing. She’d been worried about acceptance in general since she’d purchased the plane tickets, and she knew her mother had been even more so. Jo was related to these people, after all; she had a much greater chance of building bonds with them than Cecilia did as a mere widow of their lost son.

But as nothing but smiles and agreements went around the room, those fears eased.

The Matautia family was incredible, Jo was learning; both Malia and Evani were engineers specializing in underwater vehicles (they met at their company), Naomi was a geologist with published research papers, Kelly was a historian and teacher of the Hawaiian people, Alana taught English at a Korean high school and her husband, Paek, was a police officer.

Though both were retired now, Laini was once a musician and Alex had been her agent. They still took odd jobs at venues all around the Polynesian islands. Alex dealt with payments, Laini played and sometimes sang.

When Jo learned this, she asked for a sample, and Laini proceeded to sing something called[ _Kaulana Nā Pua_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4oTJ17QRnxM) while strumming an honest-to-god ukelele. It wasn’t nearly as small as she’d expected, though, and she wasn’t sure if she was disappointed by that or not.

Apparently the song was pretty well-known, too, but she’d never heard it before -- and more so, listening to Hawaiian left her _entranced_ for a long while. A part of her kept thinking, _I would’ve known this if Dad had grown up with them,_ and another part of her was strangely addicted to the language. It was gorgeous, she thought, and she had an instant desire to study it.

Probably not a good idea, considering she was trying so hard to focus on her ballet and shouldn’t take on new projects in the meantime, but she couldn’t help feeling a kind of pull in her heart. She didn’t want to run around the island screaming _roots!_ at everything, but damn if she wasn’t feeling that way.

Already some connections had been made between her, this place, and her relatives, and it was both terrifying and alluring. A part of her was demanding she say “fuck it” to the return flight and just stay here, instead.

But something else was constantly changing her mind, and as she and her mother were turning in for the night, she confessed it:

“Mom? Is it weird that I want to stay here, but at the same time, I’d hate to stay here?”

Cecilia, already in a top-and-shorts combo for bed, gave her a lopsided smile. “Of course not,” she soothed. “I’d find it odd if you weren’t, in fact. Let me guess: you’re fascinated by everything and you’re dying to know more and experience everything, but everything you look at or hear or smell is accompanied by a wonder of how someone else would be feeling, if he were here?”

Jo’s return smile was strained. “I’m that transparent?” she mused dryly.

“You’re in love,” Cecilia corrected. “I know exactly how you feel, love. I felt it once, too -- I still do,” she added more quietly. “It’s stronger now than it’s been in years.”

An ache starting in her heart, Jo took a seat on the bed beside her mother and reached for a hand. Staring at their clasped fingers, tan skin on dark brown, Jo commented, “I’m glad you’re here, Mom. I think I’d be going crazy if you weren’t.”

Pivoting, Cecilia looped her arms around her (much taller) daughter’s shoulders to tug her down, and Jo gratefully followed. As she rested her head against her mother’s shoulder, Cecilia replied, “Thinking about your father?”

“Dad, Raphael, you...” Jo murmured.

“What if?” Cecilia checked.

Nodding, feeling tears start to brim, Jo confessed, “Had a lot of those, yeah. What if Dad had never gone missing, what if he had grown up here? What if I’d been born here? What if...I’d never been born cause you and Dad never met? Stuff like that,” she finished, voice dropping to a whisper.

Cecilia pet at her hair, digesting Jo’s concerns for a moment. Then the next, and the next and the next, until Jo wasn’t sure she’d be getting a reply. She needed some kind of comfort, but she wasn’t sure her thoughts _could_ be comforted.

Then Cecilia asked, “What do you think your father would say, if he could answer? Do you think he’d tell you to stop all that, that it was pointless? Or...?”

Julian? _No way,_ Jocelyn thought. “No, he’d...he’d tell me to keep feeling and thinking. To not force it down.”

“Exactly,” Cecilia agreed softly. “He’d tell you that your feelings are important. Then he’d make some kind of a joke involving a potted plant and a hair dryer,” she finished with a laugh.

Chuckling, Jo had to agree with that. “Why’d the hair dryer blow the plant? It was dirty,” she offered.

Snorting, Cecilia replied, disgusted, “Oh, come on, he never made dirty jokes. And that was _really_ bad, Jo.”

“I aim to please,” the blonde said, amused.

Cecilia ruffled the blonde’s hair, then directed, “Alright, enough of that, thank you very much. We have a much, much bigger day tomorrow, so get some sleep.”

“Ma’am,” Jo teased, nodding.

“Sass me again, see how that works out for you,” her mother warned.

“Ma’am,” Jo repeated, grinning.

Tisking but smiling, Cecilia let it go, and the two settled into bed. But it took Jocelyn a while to relax, her mind constantly coming up with ways the next morning could be amazing -- or terrible. She kept finding herself wondering what Raphael was up to right now, if he was missing her (she knew he was), and how he’d undoubtedly settle her nerves if he were here.

She’d bet it’d be as simple as him saying, “So what?”

What if things went sideways and she ended up fighting with her father’s family?

_So what?_

What if she made a fool of herself?

_So what?_

What if she did something, said something, and her great-grandparents took offense?

_So what?_

It was helpful to think like this, actually. After all, she’d told him, hadn’t she? It didn’t matter, ultimately, what happened here; she wouldn’t change, wouldn’t abandon her lover or her life in New York, wouldn’t suddenly value this house of strangers over everything else that made her “her”.

She just wanted things to go well, that’s all. If it didn’t...then it was back home, back to her normal life. It was a warm, comfortable, fulfilling kind of life anyway; she didn’t _need_ more than what she had.

 _Count your blessings,_ she coached herself. As she did so, thinking of all the things she had -- material, mental, relationship, emotional -- her tense muscles relaxed.

Hope for the best, she told herself, but never forget: this is what you want, not what you need.

She should really be a motivational speaker, she mused, impressed with the direction of her own thoughts. Tomorrow would go fantastically -- or she would let it go and return home with no real net loss. Simple as.

...She hoped.

* * *

 

Mother and daughter came downstairs after each of them had showered the next morning, finding Laini and Leila working on setting up a _notably_ large breakfast. Alex was nowhere in sight; when Jo asked about it, she was directed out the back door.

Cecilia opted to stay with her almost-mother-in-law while Jo went exploring, finding that the back yard had a large deck that led directly out into the wilderness. No walls, no fences -- but she _did_ notice three trails of tall tiki torches leading in different directions.

She found her grandfather with his nephews, speaking (what she assumed was) Hawaiian as the group played with an assortment of sports toys. Nearby the toddlers, her littlest female cousins, were squatted in the dirt and talking as they dug with sticks. But Jo notably didn’t see her aunts anywhere.

She was about to ask about that when one of the boys threw a frisbee her way with a shouted, “Head’s up!” She pivoted and caught it, her boyfriend’s training making the move more reflex than conscious, then tossed it back.

“Watch out,” she warned, “I’m not gonna take it easy on you cause you’re a kid.”

He puffed up. “I’m _almost_ ten!” he declared.

Another boy laughed and nudged him, saying something she couldn’t follow, and starting a wrestling match as the former boy tackled him.

Alex sighed, but he was smiling all the same. Then, standing up to his full height, he crossed his arms and barked, _“E mālie!”_

The children immediately halted, and Jo had an eerie sense of familiarity. If their heights weren’t so drastically different, she could’ve mistaken Alex for Splinter.

They’d get along, she thought.

As the boys split apart, looking ashamed, Alex told them, “Apologize. Now.” When the children did as directed, he ruffled their fluffy black locks and sent them off, then turned to Jocelyn.

 _“Aloha kakahiaka,”_ he greeted.

Wincing, she replied, “I got ‘aloha’, but...?”

He chuckled. “It means ‘good morning’,” he translated.

“Oh. Uh, aloha, whatever,” she offered.

Amused, he strode closer, coming to stand on the ground at the foot of the trio of steps. He asked, “Sleep well, _kūkā?”_

Confused if he’d used a Hawaiian word or if she’d just misheard him, she answered, “Yeah, the bed’s actually a lot like mine at home. Um, did you just call me a cookie?”

He laughed, though he quickly got it under control. “No, no, I said _kūkā,”_ he repeated more slowly. “It means ‘jewel’,” he told her.

A sudden wave of warmth filled her, realizing then that she might be holding off judgement of her family and proceeding with a measure of emotional distance...but her family clearly wasn’t doing the same. They’d gone all-in, apparently, and she honestly wasn’t sure how to react to that.

She’d never had much of a family before -- her mother’s side had been a list of single children with a few disowned or disregarded relations, ending when her mother’s parents had died nearly a decade prior. Even then, her grandparents had never been very close to her, though she suspected that was partly her own fault; after her father’s death she’d become very reclusive and reluctant to be around anyone but her own mother and Cassie.

This dynamic was new and bizarre and overwhelming to her, to just be accepted as if she weren’t a total stranger. Even in the context of her boyfriend and his family, it was strange; they’d all held their own concerns and hesitations, and Jo herself had made it abundantly clear from the get-go that she was there for Raphael and no one else.

It’d taken time and effort to reach the point where both sides considered the other to be family.

The Matautias very obviously didn’t hold the same caution.

Emotion crowding her throat, she hummed out a vague _mm_ and awkwardly retreated, returning to the relative safety of the indoors. Once there, however, she could hear chatter and laughter from the kitchen echoing over to her and the wash of emotions in her only got worse.

Cecilia was clearly getting along with Laini and Leila, and Jocelyn had already been given an affectionate nickname by her grandfather? Who were these people, with their big family and bigger hearts?

 _They’re_ **_your_ ** _family,_ a little voice informed her.

A shocked, heartened sob tried to escape; she forced it back down with difficulty. She’d already cried over this a dozen times, damn it, she shouldn’t let herself keep getting moved to tears. Shaking off the crowding feelings inside her, she took a steadying breath, then opted to go back outside.

She really wanted to see the beach, after all, and she had some time to kill before breakfast.

Alex was with his granddaughters now -- Natia and Lulu, if she recalled correctly -- helping them dig out a pool for their family of collected leaves. He glanced up when Jo stepped out through the doors, smiled, then got back to the landscaping.

Awkward all over again, she approached, asking, “So, uh, which way’s the beach?”

Amused, Alex checked, “On an island?”

Hah, funny. She winced at the ridiculous question, then corrected, “Well, which way’s the best way?”

The older of the two girls (Jo honestly couldn’t recall which was which) suddenly perked up and pointed, revealing that her face and clothes were sullied with mud.

Nodding in the same direction, Alex answered, “That way -- follow the most obvious path and you’ll be there in a minute.”

She started to retreat, but hesitated when she thought of her escape a minute ago. “Um, so,” she offered weakly, “about before...sorry that I just ran off.”

He got to his feet then, reaching out a hand -- he stopped, though, glancing at his muddy palm, and dropped the gesture. With a slight bow, he told her, “You have _nothing_ to apologize for, Jocelyn. Relax, and go have fun.”

Relieved to having been let off the hook, she gave him a quick ‘thanks’ and headed off.

The path, she noted immediately, was _very_ well-trodden, telling her that her grandparents probably had their grandkids visiting every damn weekend. The three boys, she soon saw, were already at the beach and racing one another between one very large boulder and a leaning palm tree, back and forth.

They were well-matched, she saw, almost keeping shoulder-to-shoulder. She couldn’t help comparing them to her boyfriend and his brothers, their competition so closely balanced it reminded her of any of dozens of similar such games back home.

The familiarity was relaxing, in a way.

When she got close, the tallest boy -- the one who’d backtalked her earlier, and notably the one who’d refused to look her way last night -- stopped so suddenly the other two collided with him, sending all three to the sand in a tangle of scrawny limbs.

Biting back laughter, she ventured closer, checking, “Everybody okay? Any wounds?”

The boys were alternating between groans and laughs, and they nudged at one another as they untangled themselves. One of them complained, “Jeez, Tai, why’d you stop?”

Tai -- the tallest of the boys -- snapped back as he rubbed at his arm, “Shut up, Ki! I didn’t! I tripped!”

 _Boys,_ Jo thought wryly, amused. She’d seen so much of _this_ in her school life it was silly.

“On what?” the third boy demanded between giggles. “Your feet?”

Scoffing, Tai knuckled him in the arm; he winced, shoving Tai back.

“Hey, hey! None of that!” Jo snapped, coming to stride between them. Tai promptly turned his back to her, and she was reminded of Benjamin -- Cassie’s brother who’d crushed on her.

Did Tai have a crush on her, too?

Once all the boys had recovered and were back on their feet, she crossed her arms, giving them a hard look. “You shouldn’t fight, you know,” she told them.

Tai snapped, “What do you know? You’re just an outsider!”

_Ouch._

‘Ki’ and the other boy just about leapt at Tai for that one, and once again she had to insert herself between them.

“Hey, what’d I just say?” she demanded, looking between them. “You shouldn’t--”

Ki interrupted her with a sharp, “Tai’s being mean! Mom said to be nice, y’know? So Tai needs to be nice--”

“She’s no one!” Tai cut in, gesturing Jocelyn.

Okay, no. She wasn’t standing for this.

Rounding on him, she leaned down to his height, warning, “Look, kid: I’m a stranger. I get it. You didn’t ask for this, your parents just dragged you along. But that doesn’t mean you get to be cruel. Whether you like it or not,” she told him, “I’m your cousin. I’m gonna be around a lot. You’re going to hear your parents and grandparents talk about me. Accept it, and hang up this bravado. You might actually find me to be a lot more fun without it.”

Tai was scowling still, and he harrumphed as she spoke, turning his face away.

 _Yep, crushing hardcore,_ she mused. Dropping that, though, she turned back to the others -- who were looking amused as hell, she saw. She began, “Okay, now that that’s over with, help me out: who’s who, again? I heard ‘Ki’ and ‘Tai’,” she said, gesturing the two in question.

“Oh, right!” the third boy began. “I’m Lasalo, you can call me Lo.”

“Aleki,” Ki added. “And that’s Tataio,” he said, pointing at Tai.

Out loud, Jo confirmed, “Lo, Ki, Tai.” When the boys nodded -- well, two of them, anyway -- she commented wryly, “And I’m Jo. Lots of nicknames around here, huh?”

Shrugging, Aleki offered, “ _Tutu kane_ says nicknames are saved for family. You’re family too, right?”

She damn well hoped so.

“Who’s ‘tutu kane’?” she checked.

“Grandpa Alex,” he answered. When she snickered, he demanded, “Why’s that funny?”

“In ballet, a ‘tutu’ is a kind of fringed skirt,” she told him.

“That’s right, you’re a ballerina, Mom said,” Lasalo declared, eyes widening.

Suddenly intrigued, Aleki pressed, “Show us something!”

Wincing, Jo confessed, “I can’t -- not in these shoes,” as she wiggled her sandal at them. “Besides, breakfast is almost ready, remember? It’ll have to wait till after.”

Scoffing, Tai blurted, “Ballerinas are stupid.”

_Oh. Hell. No._

Turning a look of indignation to the kid, she murmured, “Really? Ballerinas are stupid, huh?”

She could tell that Tai was regretting his words, yet he refused to relent. Instead of backing down from her hard look, he stood up straighter and crossed his arms; his cousins both _oooooh’d_ , watching with anticipation.

“So, I suppose,” she continued, “that anyone can do this?” Centering her balance, she extended a leg up and leaned sideways, doing vertical splits and displaying a measure of flexibility no one short of those with double joints can achieve without constant practice.

“Or this?” she prompted, toeing off her sandals. With a point at her feet, directing the boys to look, she pushed herself up to her toes -- then folded them down so her toes became pinned under her feet, the strain hurting (and more so on sand) but the point well worth the sacrifice.

Lo and Ki promptly cried out in shock, wincing, and Tai’s eyes bugged out.

She made a show of relaxing, not betraying just how much that move always hurt. Then, leaning down again, she met Tai’s eyes and added, “Hint for the future, kid -- never insult anyone’s profession, especially when you have no idea how hard it is. Kay?”

Still stunned, Tataio gave a slight nod.

Good ‘nuff.

* * *

 

Just after breakfast their little party expanded. Laini’s mother, Malae, arrived, Naomi and Enele having driven her over. Jocelyn quickly learned that Laini’s father, Loto, passed on three years prior, and Malae had been struggling with Alzheimer’s for close to a decade. The elder often mistook her family for others and confused names, had immediately called Jocelyn “Kanake” despite having just been introduced.

Laini explained, “Kanake was my aunt. Mom’s sister.”

Jo winced at that, a thread of pain hitting her. Unsure if she should offer a correction or not, she ventured, “Nice to meet you, Malae.”

Malae’s response was entirely in Hawaiian; Laini answered, caressing her mother’s hair, before telling Jo, “She has trouble remembering English, too.”

Well, today was turning out to be more somber than she’d expected.

Ultimately just about everyone was here by dinnertime, including Lalago and Tau -- Alex’s mother and father, respectively. Five children and a teenager, five adult couples, Laini’s mother, and Jocelyn and Cecilia -- it was so loud and energetic, Jo couldn’t decide if she liked it or not.

She loved parties, yes, and as an extrovert she absolutely preened under this much raw energy, but this wasn’t _any_ party. It was a series of foreign places, people and customs, a cocktail of the unknown; she was constantly hearing someone speaking in Hawaiian and being shown or taught things -- or _handed_ things, as her toddler cousins had a habit of doing.

After having received numerous leaves, flowers, and pretty stones, Jo admitted that this was about the most bizarre and uncomfortable situation of her life. She’d barely even _touched_ dirt in her lifetime, and here she was, being handed fistfuls of plants and sediments.

She’d never known her nails could get this dirty. A line of grime was shoved right up between her skin and nails, and she was finding it impossible to scrape back out.

As she examined them, at a loss for how to really get them clean, Cecilia came and took a seat beside Jo. Her mother, too, held an armful of the same gifts, and she offered them with a wry grin. “They got you, too?” she teased.

Nodding, Jo swept a hand over the collection beside her. “Mercilessly,” she answered dryly.

But, well...she wasn’t unappreciative. As the sun drifted out of sight, the wind a constant companion and the only source of light that of the home behind her, Jo found a beauty here she’d never really considered before.

She’d always loved the sights and smells and feels of certain things -- silk, perfume, and fur, to name a few -- so she’d expected to dislike the opposites she was finding in Hawaii. But she liked the fresh, clear smell of the air, the flowers and fruits she sometimes caught on the wind. She liked the almost jungle-ish look of the foliage around her, the styles and bright colors of the culture she was finding around every corner and under every rock.

She just...liked Hawaii.

And that scared her.

A little more subdued, she ventured, “What if I end up wanting to stay here? Abandoning my whole life in New York?”

Cecilia tilted her head, correcting, “You mean, what if you picked Hawaii over Raphael?”

“And ballet, but...yeah,” Jo replied, feeling ashamed of herself.

Giving her an are-you-serious kind of look, Cecilia checked, “Are you saying there’s anything whatsoever in this entire world that you could love more than you love your work and your man _combined?_ Because _I_ doubt that very much.”

A fair point. Jo considered that for a moment, then suggested, “Okay, yeah, in the long run -- but what if I make a stupid, rash decision--”

“Which you’re already calling a stupid, rash decision?” Cecilia cut in. “I think you already have the answer to your question.”

At once, Jocelyn felt better. Some of the tension left her, realizing just how right her mother was about all this. She’d just needed a dose of perspective, apparently; with that change, she really couldn’t see herself staying here when she knew her man and her school were waiting for her.

She’d never abandon either of them by choice.

The party proceeded down to the beach for a while, and Jo got a firsthand lesson in bonfires, beach games, and seashell collections. Leila even put on a show, using a duo of _poi_ designed to be lit on fire. And Jo fully understood what was happening.

Leila had no relatives who were interested in dance, so she was connecting with Jocelyn and making a huge effort to get Jo to like her.

It was _adorable_. Unnecessary, but adorable.

The next day was the big one, though: Thanksgiving. And it started with Alana and her family arriving.

To Jocelyn’s surprise, Alana was taller than her, clearly her father’s daughter. She and Paek arrived with three kids in tow: Hyeon, their teenage son, and their younger daughters, Nari and Safina. The littlest, Safina, took one look at Jo and hid her face against her father’s leg, grinning.

It was the cutest thing Jo had ever witnessed.

Nari joined with the boys very quickly and asserted herself as “boss” by way of being the eldest, and Safina kept swapping between playing with the little girls and “Nari’s Pirates”, as Nari had taken to calling them. All day long, Jo had to avoid sprinting children from one direction or another -- or, if not that, then receiving “gifts” from the toddlers.

Hyeon hung out with Leila, far too cool to be slumming it with the younger kids, and Jo got the impression he wanted nothing more than to be the big brother of the group but wouldn’t let himself step in. Almost every time the high-energy group tore through the house or backyard, he watched them with a look of mixed yearning and disappointment.

 _Poser,_ she thought, amused.

The whole tribe only stuck around the home for a little while before breaking off into groups. One group stayed behind to finish up the Thanksgiving meal, one group hung out around the house, and one -- Jo’s group -- headed down to the beach.

She’d been dying to go take a dip in the ocean this entire time, and she damn well wasn’t going to stay behind now that she had her chance. Following some directions from Leila, Jo dressed in light clothing over a swimsuit, grabbed her sandals, and then left with the rest.

Kelly and Jake were the resident “adults” for the group, as they were mostly comprised of children, and kept an eye on the raucous boys and girls while everyone enjoyed themselves.

Leila was Jo’s self-appointed guide, giving information and advice about swimming in the ocean and pointing out landmarks. Jo didn’t have the heart to tell her that she’d been to Florida before, so she knew a lot about ocean-dwelling from then, but she appreciated the sentiment anyway.

“So,” Leila prompted later, as they strode along the shore, “enjoying your stay, _hoa hānau?”_

“Yes and no,” Jo answered honestly. Then she checked, “‘Hey, now’?”

 _“Hoa hānau,”_ Leila corrected with a chuckle. “Means ‘cousin’.”

“Gotcha.”

“Why the ‘no’?” Leila asked. “What’s wrong?”

“On your front? Nothing,” Jo told her. “You guys have been amazing. And that _might_ be part of my issue. But the big thing? It’s just...” She gestured the direction of (what she thought was) her grandparents’ home, as she couldn’t see it anymore, then finished, “...this whole thing, y’know? It’s crazy different from what I‘m used to. Not a lot of trees and earth in my part of New York, the smells are totally different, all that.”

Leila was nodding. “I get that. Korea was like that, where Mom and Dad live.” Leaning in, she stage-whispered, “I hated it. That’s why I’m here and they’re not: begged them to let me stay here with _kuku_ and _kane_.”

“Grandma and grandpa?” Jo checked.

With an affirmative nod, Leila approved, “Yep. You’re catching on, yeah?”

“The subtext made it easy,” Jo informed her. “Anyway, yeah, I get you. But I’m kind of the opposite. As much as I’m loving it here, I’m also missing home. My friends, my troupe...my boyfriend.”

Looking at her sideways, Leila ventured, “Wow, you look...”

Biting her lip, Jo finished for her cousin, “Enraptured?”

Leila cleared her throat, looking away. “ _Definitely_ feeling something I don’t know about, that’s for sure.”

“It’s called ‘love’,” Jo teased, elbowing her.

Her cousin giggled nervously, then nudged her back, quipping, “Alright, alright, _makuahine.”_

The way Leila emphasized that last word was suspicious. Jo demanded, “What’d you say?”

Leila zipped her lips.

Narrowing her eyes, Jo lunged, attempting to catch Leila and wring the translation out of her -- one way or the other. Trouble was, Leila was quick; she leapt aside with a yelp and proceeded to sprint away, making childish taunting gestures as she did so.

Jocelyn couldn’t resist a grin as she gave chase, intentionally choosing not to use her superior age and training -- yet. She could easily overtake Leila in a sprint and she knew her reflexes were way sharper, but she was having too much fun to end it.

And, as she and Leila threw taunts back and forth between laughing breaths, Jo realized something: playing around with Leila felt _very_ similar to playing around with Cassie...but strangely better, too. After all, Leila looked almost identical to Jo. Their long curls, their bronze skin, even the similar shapes to their faces -- it was almost jarring.

And she’d never really known how much she’d needed that visual connection until right now.


	58. Sneaky Ninja

**Rating:** PG (swearing)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Jocelyn and Leila’s game of chase became Tag after a little while, the girls chasing one another down just to get a hand on the other. It was exhausting but amazing, filling Jo with a sense of euphoria -- both from the adrenaline and from the simple knowledge that she was _playing_ with her _cousin!_

She could’ve screamed. Instead, she settled on occasionally tackling Leila into the sand.

At least, until their game was interrupted by a loud, terrified scream. Startled, both girls halted their antics to pinpoint the cause; Jake was already sprinting in the direction of the sound while Kelly gathered up the toddlers with frantic gestures.

Jo went after Jake without a thought, a thread of panic spurring her on despite how her game with Leila had begun tiring her out. She couldn’t help it; that scream meant someone in her brand new family was in trouble somehow, and she’d damn well use her boyfriend’s gifts to protect them.

She soon caught up with Jake. He was crouched down, Nari and Safina frantically relaying something in Hawaiian to him. Lasalo, Aleki and Tataio were standing guard on the girls’ opposite side, looking shaken but standing their ground.

“What’s going on?” Jo demanded, a little breathless from her run.

Leila reached her soon after, panting hard and immediately clinging to Jo’s arm.

Jake answered, “I-I’m not sure, they’re going too fast...”

Leila tilted her head at the girls, confused, as she started to translate, “They saw, um... _kupua?“_ At Jo’s baffled look, she explained, “It means, like...a kind of shapeshifter or demigod. A supernatural kind of hero.”

At once, Jo got a very intense feeling like she knew _exactly_ what the ‘kupua’ really was.

She glanced at the kids -- who were finally calming, thank god -- and crouched down to their level, pressing, “This... _kupua,_ what did it look like? What did you see?”

The kids, she soon found, were _not_ on the same page. All five began talking over each other in a jumble of barely-caught partial sentences.

“It was -- it was big, like, really big--”

“--tall! Like a tree--”

“--it was bright red bird!”

“--thought it was a croton--”

“--small, but big, like a rock--”

“--dark brown and jagged--”

“--all green and dark--”

Yep, she was now certain of two things: first, the kids all saw something different.

Second...she wasn’t quite as alone as she’d thought.

 _That sneaky son of a bitch,_ she thought, even as she said aloud, “I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll check it out, okay?”

Jake -- clearly not believing the children -- agreed, saying, “Good idea. Shoo it away. I’ll take the kids back.”

Then Leila offered, “Want me to come with? We’re sure to _find_ the _kupua_ if we work together.” Her grin said she didn’t believe the kids either.

Seeing no logical reason to turn her down, Jo replied, “Sure -- you try that way, I’ll try this way, and we’ll meet back up in ten, yeah?” as she gestured different directions.

It didn’t matter which way she went and she knew it. Raphael was somewhere nearby and he’d undoubtedly trail her -- and then she’d give him a nice, whispered reprimand.

And probably a really, _really_ passionate kiss, if she was being honest with herself. God, she’d missed him.

As she and Leila split up, Jocelyn striding out into some thick foliage, she realized something interesting about herself: she clearly didn’t _always know_ when Raphael was around. She’d thought so, once, but now she was getting the impression that she only really knew he was close when she _knew_ it.

And now that she did, she was getting a feel for where, exactly, he was. There was so much foliage and rock growths around, he had plenty of places to hide; it was no wonder she hadn’t pinpointed him before. Now, however, she was picking up on little movements and sounds that didn’t quite match the wind patterns.

By the time she was well and surely separated from Leila -- and everyone else, for that matter -- she was certain she’d found him.

So she turned right towards him, folded her arms, and demanded, “Alright, out. I know you’re here.”

There was a beat of absolute stillness before he complied, stepping out of a thick, tall bush with huge leaves -- right where she knew he’d be.

She was getting pretty good at this ninja stuff, apparently.

Raphael was looking sheepish, and he shrugged his massive shoulders when she stared him down. “What? Like I was gonna let you go alone,” he said brusquely.

She bit back an immediate retort, then replied, “‘Let’ me? Really?”

He glanced away, clearly recognizing his mistake. “I mean...unprotected. New place, all’o that.”

“Uh-huh,” she deadpanned. When he didn’t respond, she sighed, saying, “Baby, we talked about this. A lot. We decided--”

“ _You_ decided,” he interrupted sharply.

That gave her pause. Had she been so pushy during those conversations, simply ignoring his concerns? She couldn’t recall ever shutting him down, but she _did_ remember him biting back retorts.

Often.

...Maybe she _had_ strong-armed this particular issue.

Taking a deep breath, she exhaled in a huff, then began, “Okay, so...what I’m getting here is you felt like I wasn’t hearing you?”

He didn’t reply to that, but his body language said ‘yes’ in clear, bold letters.

“Then I’m sorry, baby,” she told him. Striding up to him, hands already lifting, she went on, “I guess I was so caught up in what _I_ wanted that I didn’t see what _you_ wanted, and that’s on me.” She caressed him, shoulders to cheeks and back, venturing, “Will you forgive me for that?”

He watched her in silence for a second; then, all at once, his gaze softened and he leaned in, bringing their foreheads together. As his arms circled her, he murmured, “Ya know I can’t stay mad at’chu. Yeah, babe -- I forgive you.”

She smiled, gave him a sweet kiss -- then abruptly yanked back from him with a sharp, “And now it’s _your_ turn.”

He looked surprised. “What?”

“Apologize,” she prompted.

He narrowed his gaze. “For what?” he demanded.

Oho, getting stubborn, was he? Two could play that game. She shifted until she was in the Stubborn Female Power Pose™ -- arms folded, weight on her left leg -- and directed, “You lied to me. You said you’d wait at home, but you snuck aboard my flight, didn’t you? Didn’t even wait a day first.”

He scoffed, shuffling, denying with a gruff, “‘Course not, I let ya go with yer mom, like I said.” Glancing away, he added more quietly, “Then I started missing ya...”

The last part was sweet, but the first part was another lie.

“C’mon, Raphael,” she said, annoyed, “you knew I’d landed within minutes. Either you really expected the flight to be precisely twenty minutes late, or you were there.”

Brows drawn, he immediately shot back, “It wasn’t late. It was five minutes--”

“--early?” she finished for him.

It was almost comical, watching him get caught in a lie. He went quiet and still, catching on to her little trap, then heaved a huge sigh. “Fine,” he relented, “yeah, I snuck on the flight. Been here the whole time.”

Nodding, she replied, “Well, that’s pretty impressive, I can admit that. But you still lied to me. That hurts, baby.”

Just like that, he crumbled, head dipping. “Yer right,” he murmured. “’M sorry I lied. Can ya forgive me?” He gave her this adorable, tentative smile as he said that, and it had her melting on the inside.

Turning his words around on him, she replied with a little smirk, “I can’t stay mad at’chu, you know that. Yeah, baby, I forgive you -- but in the future, just tell me the truth, alright?”

Wincing, he confessed, “You woulda been pissed, though.”

“I was gonna be pissed either way,” she pointed out, “but at least this way you wouldn’t have made it worse by lying, too.”

He huffed a sigh, then nodded. “Alright, yeah...yeah. That’s my bad.” Lifting his hands in surrender, he finished, “Won’t lie about sneaking aboard your flights anymore, promise.”

Brows lifting, she replied, “Wow. That’s quite a qualifier.”

His lopsided grin said he was teasing her, and she’d missed that about him so much she didn’t even chide him for it. She just strode back into his arms, hands lifting of their own accord to caress him. Being this close to him again -- even though it’d only been a few days -- started a heat inside her, and the adoring look he was giving her wasn’t helping.

Not for the first time, she was struck by just how much she loved him.

But when he dipped his head, intent clear, they were interrupted by a sharp gasp and a whispered _“kupua_ “.

In unison, they looked towards the sound, finding Leila standing there. She must’ve followed Jo, and now she’d caught the lovers red-handed.

Uh-oh.

A thread of panic went through Jocelyn. She wasn’t ready to make these particular introductions -- she barely even knew her family and didn’t trust that they’d accept her choice of boyfriend. At once, she was getting a dozen visions of how this could result in the Matautia family rejecting her, and each one rent a new hole in her chest.

She had to get in front of this.

When Leila took a strangling inhale, Jo was there in a second, harshly directing as she neared, “Don’t scream! It’s okay, this is fine -- Leila, look at me, okay?”

The teenager looked between Jo and Raphael and back, stuck in a stun. That was good -- or, well, better than screaming, anyway.

Gesturing Raphael, Jo explained, “This is my boyfriend, Raphael. Technically-speaking, he wasn’t supposed to follow me, but he did, so...surprise, he’s a turtle!”

“Hey,” Raphael greeted with a small wave.

Leila squeaked out a syllable, then murmured, _“Kupua...”_

“Right, yeah,” Jo agreed quickly, “a...turtle _kupua,_ that’s a great way to describe it. But, look, you can’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Huh?” was Leila’s dazed response.

Turning the younger girl’s face towards her, Jocelyn directed, “You can’t tell. It’s important, okay? I need you to promise me you won’t tell.”

Slowly shaking out of it, Leila finally started to focus, giving Jo a confused look. “What?” she demanded, seeming almost offended. “No, I can’t -- I can’t keep secrets from _kuku_ and _kane,_ it’s disrespectful.”

 _Boy, that sounded familiar,_ Jo thought dryly. “I get that, and I’m sorry for asking this of you, but Raphael -- the more people who know about him, the more danger he’s in. I just need you to trust me. I’ll tell Laini and Alex later, okay? When I feel the timing’s better. I promise.”

Leila was silent for a long time, staring at Jo as if she’d grown three more heads, then turned her gaze back to Raphael. He shrugged. Somehow that seemed to work, because Leila’s expression began to fall.

Sighing, she relented, “Yeah, yeah -- okay. I won’t tell. But you need to,” she hinted.

Jo was quiet for a second, processing that, before venturing, “Wait, do you...do you really think they’d be okay with this? With Raphael?”

Shrugging, Leila replied, “Well, yeah -- you’re family, right?”

 _Yes,_ Jo thought, though she wasn’t sure if she really believed it yet or just had a desperate hope.

“And your boyfriend is a _kupua!”_ Leila pressed, steadily going from shocked to excited. “How cool is that?”

Striding closer, Raphael checked, “Okay, I give -- what’s a _kupua?”_

Jo answered, “Like a hero, apparently.”

He puffed up a little at that, drawing an indulgent grin out of her.

“Usually it’s more like a shapeshifter kind of demi-demigod,” Leila explained. “Not a direct child of a god, but a descendant with some gifts.”

Raphael’s blooming smile said he liked that description. _“Kupua?”_ he repeated, talking directly to Leila for the first time.

The girl gave a startled laugh as she realized she was the center of his attention, and she pressed in a little closer to Jo as she answered, “Uh, yeah, you got it.”

Jocelyn looped an arm around her in support, murmuring to her, “That’s gonna go straight to his head.”

He huffed. “Ya got somethin’ to say to me, huh?” he demanded.

Jo stuck out her tongue. “Only that you’re such a preening, prancing princess.”

Leila laughed; Raphael scoffed, even as he grinned. If anyone else had said those words, it would’ve started a fight and she knew it. She loved that no matter how she teased him, he always brushed it off.

Then, edging closer, Leila whispered to Jo, “He’s...he’s kinda hot, huh?”

Jo inclined her head in agreement. “Ohh, yeah,” she agreed. Dropping her chin to give her cousin a hard stare, she warned in a low voice, “But don’t go gettin’ any funny ideas. He’s mine.”

Having missed all that, her boyfriend tilted his head at the females. “Wha’s goin’ on?” he demanded.

Hedging, Jo told him, “Just discovering one more thing I have in common with my cousin, here.”

Leila gave another nervous giggle.

* * *

 By dinnertime _everyone_ was here. And by “everyone”, Jo meant something more along the lines of “more people than she’d ever imagined could even be in a single family”.

There wasn’t nearly enough room in the home to seat this many people, so they had to set things up outside. According to Laini, they didn’t usually gather the entire family like this, but this particular Thanksgiving was special. When she’d put out the news that Enoka had a wife and daughter who’d be around for this holiday, absolutely no one had declined the invitation.

Jo and Cecilia spent a good portion of the night being passed around like a newborn and questioned about their lives. At one point one of her aunts -- she couldn’t quite tell them apart yet -- put a flower in her hair, and it was so adorably typical she couldn’t bear to take it out.

Alana, in particular, kept cooing over Jo’s hair, too. Every so often she was pulled back into her aunt’s grasp to have her curls mussed, and after a little while of this her littlest cousins got in on it. Her hair was a wreck by the end of the night, but Jo found she didn’t mind it.

Point of fact, she returned the favor by playing around with their hair, too. In the end just about all of the women had flowers, leaves, and random braids in their hair. And Jo noticed that Laini watched the proceedings with a watery smile.

It was a humbling thing, knowing that her very existence was causing her grandmother this much sheer happiness.

...And a sad thing to realize that neither Jo nor her own mother would ever get to know that same joy.

It hard thing, then, to keep her spirits up. She kept telling herself to enjoy the dinner and her _freaking massive family_ , but her mind kept returning to her lover. _What we’ll never have,_ he’d said once, and she’d simply told him not to think about it.

And now here she was, thinking about it with a pang in her chest she couldn’t quite identify. It remained when she gave in to the constant requests to “do something” ballet-related, performing moves then explaining them and aiding her cousins as their attempted to copy her; it remained when she became the target of dogpile, a host of giggling kids pulling her down and proceeding to smother her; it remained even after the procession moved to the beach, the seemingly endless space finally giving her room to breathe.

It was amazing out here, she admitted. There was a constant wind caressing her, the waves had a strikingly calming sound and sight to them, and the stars seemed to go on forever. Reflected in the ocean, doubling their number, she found herself staring out into what felt like an abyss, held in awe.

 _I used to know all the constellations,_ she thought, but against this many she couldn’t get her bearings. She could still recall a few -- the Big and Little Dipper, in particular -- but here and now they were utterly lost in the sea of stars. It gave her the juxtaposed sensation of being both insignificantly tiny and unbelievably valuable.

And, oddly, it gave her the strongest urge to dance. It put a smile on her face, thinking how silly it was to be wanting to dance ballet on a sandy beach of Hawaii. Maybe someday she’d even cross her heritage with her profession and create a play specially for her bizarre, unique life. Right then she could almost _feel_ the steps involved, could nearly hear the music which would accompany her moves.

Cecilia interrupted her contemplation by siding up to her and taking her hand. There was a concerned line to her mother’s brow as the older woman looked at her, checking, “How are you holding up? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you stand so still in your entire life.”

Jocelyn chuckled at that, admitting it was true. “Just taking in everything,” she replied, giving her mother a shoulder bump. “It’s...unbelievable, you know? I’m a born ‘n bred New Yorker, and here I am on a beach, of all things. Plus...those stars? We don’t see even five percent of that in Manhattan.”

Nodding, Cecilia agreed, “Yeah, it’s pretty...well, it’s pretty.”

Lowering her voice a fraction, Jo continued, “And kinda scary, y’know?”

“I know,” Cecilia murmured, giving her daughter’s hand a squeeze.

They fell into silence then, moments passing as they idly watched the activity of the children and the non-activity of the sky in turns. And then Jo whispered, “Guess who followed us here.”

Cecilia glanced up in surprise, then clucked her tongue. “Do I need more than a single guess?” she muttered dryly.

“Nope. He’s here -- probably in earshot,” Jo told her.

“Want me to go give him a piece of my mind?”

“No need, I already gave him plenty of mine,” Jo chuckled. “But I was thinking...I kind of...need him right now.”

That was all it took. Cecilia gazed at Jo for a moment, then nodded, releasing their clasped hands. “If anyone asks, you just needed some time alone,” she said.

Jo leaned in, giving her mother a kiss on the head, and turned from the mesmerizing sight before her to seek out something far more alluring.

It wasn’t difficult to track Raphael, now that she knew he was here. Maybe he was making it easy on her, too, but either way she had no trouble following the sound of his footfalls on the rough ground and his hefty form passing through the foliage.

He led her this way until they were well and truly secluded, and she found he’d set up a little room for himself in an area covered on all sides by huge outcrops of boulders. A pile of giant fronds made what was obviously a makeshift bed, and she saw he’d also brought a few supplies for cooking for himself.

The supplies included packaged and canned foods; self-sufficient he may be, but he was clearly still more than a little spoiled by life in New York. There was a kind of charm to that, she thought, amused.

Raphael helped her over the rocks, then tugged her against him. There was concern in his gaze as he brushed her hair back, reading her expression. “Whatever ya need,” he said, and that was really what she needed most.

She leaned into him, arms circling his middle and fingers diving under his shell. She inhaled deep, taking in his familiar, comforting scent as he pet her hair and back. He didn’t press her to talk, thankfully -- she had no idea what would come out of her mouth if she did.

It was funny, in a way. Earlier she’d been so irritated with him for sneaking here, and now she couldn’t have been more grateful. Maybe it was indicative of weakness, but she needed his support now more than she ever had before and she didn’t care if that meant she’d lost some measure of strength.

After all, was there any more pure expression of love than reaching for someone else when you felt unsteady?

“I love it here,” she murmured then, uncertain what spurred her on but unable to stop it. “I love them -- my family. And I’m scared, cause I know when this is over I’m gonna miss them so much, and they’ll be sad and _I’ll_ be sad, but...but I can’t just stay here, y’know? I love it here, but I’m already itching to leave, too. I love New York and everyone and thing in it, and I wanna go home. I need to go home. With you,” she added, looking up for the first time.

In this low light she couldn’t tell for sure, but she thought there was a shine to Raphael’s eyes. He lifted a hand to her cheek and stroked, sending pleasing tingles through her. He didn’t speak, but then, he didn’t need to -- she could feel the opposing turmoil and adoration in him.

Then she went on, “Does that make a terrible person, being here and surrounded by so many people and wanting someone else more? To have finally found my roots and wanting to be someplace else?”

“‘Course not,” he answered, a smile starting to bloom to life. “If everyone stayed where their roots were, New York wouldn’t exist.”

A great point. Relief filled her, tension pouring out of her. “Thanks, baby,” she cooed.

He chuckled. “Ya know, if anything, I’d say you’re pretty lucky -- havin’ more than one place ya can call home. First New York, now here. Not so many people get that.”

She nodded, then added coyly, “You forgot one. The ‘home’ thing.” He tilted his head, intrigued, and she finished, “You.”

A grin split his face, looking away from her in clear avoidance.

With a laugh, she reached up and guided his face back around. “C’mere, sexy,” she teased.

He huffed, but she was pretty sure it was just for show on account of his grin never let up. Following her gentle pull, he lowered his head, giving her a sweet, soft kiss.

 _That’s my baby,_ she thought, pleased.

She didn’t leave him that night. They talked quietly all through the night, until exhaustion caught up with her and put her to sleep. And she was comfortable the entire night, the air feeling a little heavy from humidity but perfectly balanced, too.

Plus her beau was shockingly comfy to sleep against. His bed might be just leaves and foliage, a pitiful mockery of their bed back home, but she quickly found a comfortable spot against him and proceeded to konk out.

When she woke again, it was to the sensation of being shaken and urgent murmurs of her name.

“What, what?” she demanded, irritated.

“Shh,” Raphael hushed sharply. “Yer family’s close. They’re callin’ for ya.”

Oh. Haha. Oops.

His urgency transferred over to her and she nodded as she pushed herself up. Living with him had done a good job of teaching her to actually wake up after being roused, and right now she pushed it harder. Once on her feet, she listened, catching her name being called by numerous people.

Maybe she shouldn’t have left her phone behind last night, then. At least she’d have been able to text that she was alright, but she hadn’t wanted the phone to get damaged while at the beach.

Live and learn.

With Raphael’s help, Jo scaled the rocks hiding his little cove and hopped down to the ground. The landing didn’t quite stick, thanks to her recently-woken limbs, so she tumbled straight into a huge bush with a yelp.

Then she got to hunt down her family, composing a series of excuses as she did so. And, she found, every single male in her family -- including her cousins -- had been looking for her, as well as half the women and her mother. Luckily she found Leila first and managed to convince the other girl to lie with her.

“I just fell asleep watching the stars,” Jo coached.

Leila sighed. “I don’t like lying, _hoa hānau.”_

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Jo told her.

“Where were you, really?” Leila pressed.

“With Raphael. I really did fall asleep watching the stars,” Jo pointed out. “Just...not alone.”

Tilting her head, Leila checked, “Why were you with him, then? Why not us?”

Shrugging, Jo confessed, “I needed him. So much about this place confuses and unsettles me, and no offense, but I still don’t know you guys that well. I just really needed him right then.”

Leila stared at Jo sideways for a moment, then shook her head. “Being in love sounds weird,” she commented.

“Don’t knock it till you try it,” Jo quipped.

Leila flipped her hand dismissively. “Anyway, maybe next time come to me, yeah? Whatever you’re feeling, I can help.”

Smiling, Jo replied low, “I have no doubt you’d _try_ , and I appreciate it -- I really do -- but I needed my lover, not my cousin.”

Leila coughed at that, and Jo caught her starting to blush.

Suddenly feeling a little superior, Jo commented, “That’s right -- I said _lover_ . Oh no,” she faked gasped, “that’s such a _grown-up_ word!”

Leila elbowed her. “I’m a grown-up!” she snapped. “Well...almost.”

“Almost,” Jo echoed, a mocking note to her voice. That earned her a shove, which she took with a chuckle. It was so weird, but she was seeing so much of herself in Leila -- the attitude, the passion, the pride. And it made her wonder if seeing parallels in family you’d never met was a common thing or not.

Either way, she was getting a strong feeling that she’d made a sister out of a cousin.

And then the storm hit.

Leila had already sent out a text, letting everyone know Jocelyn was found and perfectly fine, so by the time the girls made it home everyone was there -- and in varying degrees of anger, relief, and exhaustion.

Aside from Leila, Cecilia was the only adult who remained calm, and to her credit, she kept trying to settle everyone’s explosive reactions. Laini started it by rushing over and yanking Jo into a hug, demanding a strangled _where’ve you been?!_ as she patted Jo down for wounds.

Then came Alex: _You had us worried, kūkā,_ \-- Naomi: _Any bites? Anything? --_ Malia: _You shouldn’t just wander off, you don’t know your way around!_ \-- and Great-Grandpa Tau: _Trying to give me a heart attack, kid?_

Overwhelmed, touched, and a little uncomfortable, Jo cut in with a sharp, “Guys, guys! I’m fine, see?” She did a spin for their benefit, feeling weirdly humbled that they’d been so worried about her when she was, essentially, still a stranger. “I didn’t even go that far, okay?”

Jake spoke up then, asking, “Why’d you check out, anyway?”

Shrugging, she answered, “Just...needed some time alone. Gather my thoughts, sort through my feelings, that kinda thing.”

“And,” Cecilia added, “I told everyone you’d be fine. They worried anyway,” she said with a little wincing smile towards Jo.

“It’s alright, Mom,” Jo told her with a hug. “Thanks anyway.”

Laini huffed, still torn between relief and matronly anger, then directed to Jo, “Well, as punishment, you get to help me with breakfast.”

That pulled a smile out of Jocelyn. “Accepted. Lead the way -- and, if you’re willing, this gives me a perfect segue into how Dad used to cook.”

That caught everyone off guard, and a thread of silence spread through the room.

Then Leila ventured, “Uncle Enoka used to cook?”

Giving the other girl a grin, Jo answered, “Like a pro. He taught me, too -- so now we get to see how his skill holds up to Gra-- ...Grandma Laini,” Jo finished weakly, internally wincing as she forced out the words.

Laini was quiet for a moment, a hand lifting to cover her mouth, before she composed herself and nodded. “Come, dear,” she directed Jo, gesturing the kitchen.

As if Jocelyn could’ve resisted by this point. And, yes, she had a weird sense of connection as she worked in the kitchen with Laini, as if she were giving this grieving mother another piece of her lost son. It’d been years, now, but she found herself carefully considering what Julian would’ve done now, which foods and ingredients he would’ve selected and at which portions.

Because a part of her wanted to give this incredible family their lost member back, and the only way she could think to do it was by showing them exactly what he would’ve made for breakfast. As she did so, she could almost imagine her father’s hand over her own, guiding her choices.

It was silly for an atheist, but also...comforting. And, she thought, it did its job, that illusion: she’d developed her own style and tastes over the years, but _this_ was _Julian._

Pancakes with strawberries on the side and vanilla creme instead of syrup, sausage, scrambled eggs, and papayas -- a fruit she’d never known was Hawaiian until now but could clearly remember always being in their fruit bowl at home.

She didn’t want to just start declaring how her dad had always subconsciously known he was Hawaiian, but damn if she wasn’t seeing similarities now that she knew the truth. He’d never been big into pineapple or coconut, but papayas? They’d been his favorite fruit, bar none.

He’d put them in every dish he possibly could -- and several he really shouldn’t have. And, now that she was thinking about it, a few times he’d just held up two of the pieces on either side of his face and called himself _Dadaya_ for her amusement.

God, she loved him.

Now she intended to show everyone else how worthy he was to be loved.


	59. Raphael, Matautia; Matautia, Raphael

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing/sexual implications)

* * *

* * *

* * *

“Oh, wow -- it’s beautiful!”

The comment had Jocelyn grinning. The subject was her tattoo, which she’d honestly forgotten about, being on her back and all.

Once breakfast had been devoured (with compliments  _ flying _ , though Jo had only soaked up a partial credit, as she kept passing it off as her father’s flair), the whole family decided to have a beach day. Everyone changed into swimwear (except Alex’s parents, who opted to remain dry) and proceeded down to the waterside.

Leila had already seen (and fawned over) Jo’s tattoo, but everyone else was seeing it for the first time -- and, yes, she was more than a little prideful about it. She all but showed it off, holding her hair up as she let her grandparents and aunts and cousins have their fill of the intricate design.

“It’s not new,” Laini observed. “How long have you had this?”

“About a year, now,” Jocelyn answered.

“Wow,” Malia commented. “Why’d you get it? Just a whim?”

And that was when things got a little more tense. “Uh, well, it’s actually a cover-up,” Jo explained with a wince. “Last summer some guy jumped me. I got some bad scars from it. So this just hides that.”

Silence descended, and the thing Jo hated more than anything else was plainly visible on everyone: sympathy.

She hated those looks, knowing what she did about her attack. She didn’t care that it’d happened anymore, had recovered just fine, and had even bonded all the more strongly with her beau as a result. It’d been nothing more than a momentary pain leading to a greater love -- but so many others couldn’t see that.

“But it worked out for the better,” she hurried onwards, trying to forestall what she knew would be coming if she didn’t distract everyone. “It’s kind of involved, but the short version is my boyfriend is into turtles so I picked a kind of shell design -- for him. It brought us closer, so the whole attack thing is just whatever.”

She really didn’t want to go into further detail -- or continue down this line of questioning at all -- so she went on, “Anyway, the Polynesian design was a coincidence. My bf’s brother -- well, two of them -- worked on the design for me, it took us a couple months to settle on one. And now -- tada! I’m part turtle.”

That got a laugh out of Leila, but Jo could see everyone else struggling to overcome the first part of her story.

“So...your boyfriend has brothers?” Alana checked.

“Three of ‘em, yeah,” Jo told her.

Leila stared hard, her eyes huge. “S-seriously?” she choked.

Jo grinned, adding with a wink, “Could set you up.”

That pulled an awkward, nervous giggle from the girl.

“And one of these brothers,” Alex pressed, “he’s a detective?”

Since saying that little tidbit during their first phone call, Jo had discussed with the brothers exactly how to explain them. Donnie had given her the perfect description:

“A civilian consultant,” she corrected. “As I understand it, anything he discovers is treated as police evidence and investigated, and he can be present at crime scenes, he just doesn’t get any of the special police benefits.”

Jake, intrigued, asked, “So no gun or badge or car, but he can still be there?”

“Yep,” Jo confirmed. “I mean, I think so. I didn’t really ask that much about it.”

“Cool,” was Jake’s assessment. Glancing at his fiancee, Kelly, he said, “Maybe I oughta look into that.”

Kelly chuckled, nodding. “Follow your heart,  _ maikaʻi.” _

Slipping his arms around her, he murmured low, “I did.”

_ Ugh, _ watching that gave Jo such an intense need to have Raphael in arm’s reach. She was tempted to sneak off -- but this whole thing was about her and her family, and Raphael  _ had _ disobeyed her wishes by coming here in the first place. They’d both just have to be happy with him watching from afar.

...For now.

Thankfully the talk of Raphael’s brothers distracted everyone just enough that the tattoo talk was derailed. The procession proceeded into the waters, talking and laughing and playing games Jo had no idea how to play. She was surprised and amused to learn that most of the games had been invented by the children -- including by her aunts, back when they were young.

It made the games all the more touching, knowing she was participating in what was, essentially, family-only entertainment.

In between games, her aunt Malia got her attention, drawing Jocelyn over for a chat. They strode along the beach as Malia began, “About your tattoo...”

Jo sighed. “I really don’t like talking about the attack, if that’s where you’re going with this,” she told her aunt.

Malia shook her head. “No, actually, I wanted to ask if you understood all the pieces you put in it.”

“Ah,” Jo nodded, “you mean the shell design, the ocean motif, the spearheads, the shark teeth, et cetera?”

Malia looked impressed. “You researched it?” she checked.

Nodding an affirmative, Jo explained, “When I started looking at designs, I already knew I wanted something shell-themed. Donnie and Mikey helped with that -- uh, two of my b-f’s brothers -- by making all kinds of designs based on pretty much every culture ever. The Polynesian style was the one that grabbed me, so we went with that, and they went above and beyond for it,” she murmured, thinking back to then with a wash of warmth.

Damn, but she loved those boys -- they were top-notch people, mutants or not.

Shaking herself, she went on, “Uh, anyway, they did independent research and gave me the results and we built my tattoo based off it. I mean,” she chuckled, “I figured if I was going to pick a design based on a culture that does nothing but personalized stuff, I was gonna at least be as accurate as I could with it.”

Seeming to take that as a challenge, Malia ventured, “So the spearheads...?”

“Adversary overcome,”Jo answered. “Namely, the attack, the way it impacted my life, and...well, losing Dad, in a way,” she added more quietly. “Plus Raphael and me were pretty rocky for a while, there. He blamed himself for the whole thing; it tore him apart. So the spearheads also kind of symbolize how we got over that, together.”

Her aunt clearly didn’t know how to take that, looking stunned for a moment before pressing on, “The ocean design?”

That one was easy. “‘Continuity through change,’“ Jo quoted. “That one hit me pretty hard, so I knew it had to be something very central. It was Mikey’s idea to have the waves circle the whole design, kinda representing everything. Then Donnie added some cute little swirls inside the shell, so it sort of became this whole beginning-through-end thing.”

Malia took all that in with slow nods, thinking, before checking, “And that symbol, at the top? Inside the sun?”

Grinning, Jo confessed, “Uh, well, it’s Japanese, actually. See, my b-f and his bros are Italian, but their dad is Japanese, so Japan is a huge part of their weird little family. They know Japanese and follow their traditions and everything. That character is ‘koi’, meaning, like...true love.”

For a moment Malia looked utterly blown away; then, laying a hand over her heart, she replied, “That’s...amazing, Jocelyn. And humbling. Did Raphael appreciate it?”

Jo bit her lip at the question, remembering the night she’d revealed it. “Repeatedly,” she hinted.

That got a laugh out of the older woman. “Well, I’m glad. And this boyfriend is sounding more interesting all the time. He’s Italian, but follows Japanese culture, and he’s really into turtles?”

It took everything in Jocelyn to not blurt out,  _ And he’s a ninja! _ Instead, she cleared her throat, nodded, and confirmed, “Uh-huh, yep, pretty much. Him and his bros and dad are all like that, really, but they have their different sides.” Lowering her voice a little, she added, “Raphael’s a bodybuilder, for example. It’s...pretty damn hot.”

“Sounds like it,” Malia allowed. “So, any girls in their family?”

“One sister-by-circumstances, sort of,” Jo told her. “When they were young she was kind of their caretaker, and later on she helped them out. A lot. So she’s considered family, even though they’re not related. She comes by pretty frequently and they work together often, usually about police stuff. She’s a reporter,” Jo told her aunt.

“That sounds...complicated,” Malia noted.

“It is,” Jo winced. “But, hey, family’s a lot more than just blood, right? And his family might be a weird mix-n-match of cultures and people, but they’d do anything for one another. I’d take that over ‘yeah, we’re related’ any day -- and yeah, I realize how that sounds, talking to my aunt and all.”

Malia laughed. “You’re not wrong,” she told Jo. Reaching out, she brushed Jo’s hair back, saying, “No one is family just because of their blood, but it’s a good starting point, isn’t it? I can’t speak for everyone, but I’m...I’m really glad Enoka gave us you, Jocelyn.”

At once, Jo felt her eyes start to sting. She struggled against a need to just throw herself at her aunt, instead opting to take the other’s (slightly darker) hand, answering, “Me, too. I mean, I’m really sad that Dad never got a chance to know you and all, but I’m also really happy that  _ this _ was his family,” she explained, gesturing the beach and the numerous multi-generational people milling about.

“I think,” she went on quietly, “he really would’ve loved this. You,” she added to Malia. “All of you.”

And Malia teared up, even as she smiled. It was almost funny; Jo had barely managed to hang on to her composure, but her aunt wasn’t as successful, it seemed.

“That helps,” Malia murmured.

* * *

 

Watching the proceedings from afar sat Raphael, keeping an eye on the entire rambunctious family as best he could. Not an easy task, given how easily his gaze was drawn over at every flash of blonde hair and familiar, hearty laugh.

From the very beginning, he’d thought of her as something out of a dream; now it felt more true than it ever had before. She was visibly different here, surrounded by a culture neither of them had ever so much as suspected in their few talks of her heritage.

Leila had dragged Jocelyn inside to change near sundown, and the two reemerged in hula outfits -- a sight that both seduced him and nearly made him burst out laughing. Both girls had a coconut bra over a tube top and it tickled him something fierce. Those coconut halves were huge, and Jocelyn was notably  _ not _ . The contrast was hilarious.

And then the two started a dance for the rest of the family. And, he mused, Jocelyn’s ballet training had clearly given her an incredible ability to mimic, because she managed to follow Leila’s movements well. It was pleasing to watch, too, the dance split between flowing hand gestures and steps. He could see Jocelyn’s habits coming to the fore as well, her toes naturally pointing and her ankles able to twist much more dramatically than Leila’s could.

With the setting sun bathing everything gold, putting a gorgeous shine on the tanned forms of the dancers in their grass skirts and flower crowns, he was hit was an incredible sense of nostalgia. Watching Jocelyn in the moonlight as she danced on her roof felt so familiar to now, especially with him hidden during the performance, but it also held a striking contrast.

Those nights had always been cold. This, however...this was  _ warm _ .

Watching her these past days had left him conflicted -- so was she, it seemed, but he was pretty sure he had her beat, there. After all this, a huge part of him wanted her to stay here, with the family she so clearly fit with -- the family she truly deserved. She may have said the opposite to him, and it caused him immense pain to consider, but he really wanted her to have the best life she could, and...if he was honest...that was something  _ he _ could never give her. 

He could never leave New York -- not for long, anyway -- but Jocelyn? She was  _ home _ here, in a way she would never be in New York. He saw it in the way she interacted with her family, in the way she played in the ocean, in the way she stopped every so often to just admire the island around her.

She’d never looked at New York the way she looked at that horizon. No matter what she said about where she wanted to be, a part of her  _ belonged _ here, and it would pain her to part from it. In a way, he felt jealous of that. After all, he was a mutant turtle; he didn’t have a home or roots or a yearning for a physical place.

But  _ she _ clearly did.

He would hurt every second of every day, but for her happiness, he was willing to let her go, to be separated. And the longer he watched her, grinning at her cousin as she copied the younger girl’s moves, the more he was certain of it. Somehow he would have to convince her.

For her own good, she should stay.

God, that ached, rending through his chest like a blade, and yet...at the same time...he was smiling. Yes, she’d be happy here, surrounded by more love than he could ever dream of giving her.

And that was worth whatever pain he’d go through.

He texted her that he wanted to talk once all the festivities were over, then settled in to admire her -- again, the sense of nostalgia hit him hard. She was so damn breathtaking, it actually hurt to just sit here. He wanted so badly to get closer, to reach out and touch her, to be close enough to smell her; with so many others around he couldn’t distinguish them all, leaving Jocelyn’s scent lost in the wind. It was a travesty, really.

And as he watched, he noticed how the younger ones got into the dance. The three smallest girls, in particular, joined Jocelyn and Leila on the stage, dancing in varying degrees of coordination and rhythm. One of them -- he had no idea which -- just bounced up and down as she shook her head back and forth.

It was adorable.

Then the scene lit up in flashes of light and he realized someone was taking photos. Oh, man, she was going to  _ love _ looking at them later, he knew it. He could just imagine the way she’d light up when she saw the pictures developed--

\--even though he wouldn’t be here to see it.

Again, pain tore through him, making him wince. He was going to have to learn how to live with that, he supposed. Jocelyn deserved all the joy and love she could possibly withstand, and that was  _ here _ .

Where he couldn’t be.

“Gonna miss ya,” he murmured to her, enjoying herself on that makeshift stage. Considering this might be the very last time he ever saw her dancing, he made sure to commit every detail to memory.

This scene was going to have to carry him for decades.

* * *

 

Hours later, well after dark and everyone else had fallen asleep, Jocelyn escaped the home to meet up with her lover. Unsurprisingly, he was waiting nearby, and he led her off into the brush for privacy.

She was not expecting what he had to say.

The message he’d sent her was vague, so her imagination had gotten a little away from her. She’d figured he was just censoring his language in case her grandparents happened to see the text and that what he really wanted was some  _ affection _ .

But when he opened his mouth and said, “I think you should stay here,” all her thoughts along the lines of sex...halted.

At first she didn’t understand what he meant. It was almost unfathomable, the idea that he’d suggest anything even remotely related to separating, so she’d replied, “Uh, like, in this spot? For what?”

She couldn’t help wondering if he had some sort of game in mind, sexy or otherwise. This certainly wasn’t how they played their running game, after all, and there was nothing around that could be used as restraints, leaving her baffled as to how this could possibly be about sex. But she was also clueless as to what else this could possibly be...at first.

“No,” he replied, shifting restlessly, “in, uh...in Hawaii.”

_ Click. _

Lifting her chin to regard him, she murmured, “What’s goin’ on in your head?”

He was quiet for a second, and she started to get the feeling he was more focused, more attentive, than he’d ever been before.

Like this was ‘goodbye’.

Then, subdued, Raphael explained, “It’s just...you belong here. You  _ fit _ here. An’ I want ya to be happy, and this place...your family...they can do that better than me.”

...That sweet, stupid  _ fool _ .

Stepping closer, she threw a fist at his chest; the strike did nothing to him, but it served its purpose as both reprimand and catharsis. His reaction was simply a blink and a glance down at his totally unharmed plastron, confused.

“Dummy,” she chided, “you seriously think I’d be happier  _ here? _ Away from you?” She scoffed. “It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

Hesitating, he regarded her as if she’d just spouted complete nonsense. “Jocelyn,” he started, firm, “I’ve been watchin’ ya. If you’d seen the way ya are here, the way ya look at everythin’, the way you talk t’yer family...”

“Yeah, I forgot,” she retorted, sarcastic, “I keep looking at the people and the trees like they’re the sweetest, spiciest treat and I can’t wait to lock my lips around ‘em. How silly of me,” she hinted.

That pulled a dry laugh out of him, but his reply was more solid, stating, “I’d bet a lot of ‘em are. Stay and you’ll see that. Eventually,” he added with a more forlorn tone.

She set her jaw, getting legitimately angry now. “Okay, new rule,” she declared, “no more deciding  _ for _ Jocelyn who she is, what she wants, and where she’ll live. Can we agree to that? Cause you’re really pushin’ it, boy,” she warned.

He gave her an exasperated look. “Look, ya already clearly love this place better than ya ever loved the Lair. How long d’you think it’d take to find people you’ll love more than...more than me?” he finished with difficulty.

“Offhand guess? Eternity,” she told him, fully serious. “Look, baby, the thing you’re missing is that the place doesn’t make a home. People do. And you’re my home, remember?”

He hesitated at that, and she could hear his breath catching. Taking the opportunity, she went on, “Yeah, I admit it, Hawaii is gorgeous. I’m gonna love having vacays here in the future. But this isn’t where I ‘belong’, Raphael -- and even if it were, I don’t give a fuck. I chose you before, I choose you now, and I’d bet my life that will never change. Get me?”

He was quiet for a second, visibly rocked by her declaration. Then, shaking his head, he refocused. She almost expected him to back away from her, stubbornly pursuing his own decision like he was so wont to do; instead, he gave her a lopsided grin.

“So what’cher sayin’ is I can’t get rid’a ya?” he checked.

She smiled. “Not on your life.”

Stepping into her personal space, he brought his hands to her hips, looking down at her with an adoring expression. “Well, can’t let ya show me up, can I?” he teased. Lowering his head, he finished, “Now you got the same -- couldn’t get rid’a me if you tried.”

Her smile only grew. “Pretty sure I always had that,” she retorted smartly. “But I like the promise. Feel free to keep those comin’.”

“Promises?” he checked, started to run his lips over her cheek and jaw, tickling her in the best way.

“Mm-hmm,” she agreed, biting her lip on the tiny, pleasurable thrills stirring to life inside her.

“Alright...then, I promise...”

* * *

 

When Jocelyn woke the next morning, it was to her mother shaking her awake. She groaned against the sensation, still feeling exhausted after last night; Raphael had spent a good hour making promises to her, most of them punctuated with kisses or caresses, from mundane “I promise to put the toilet seat down” to more heavy “I promise to keep you safe, whatever it takes” -- and pointed “I promise to bite  _ here _ every chance I get” ones to her body.

The whole event quite fully seduced her and she’d refused to part from him. They’d made love -- twice, she recalled with a cat’s grin -- and she had a distinct memory of curling up against him and drifting off. She didn’t remember getting back to her bed, but that was no surprise; she’d figured he would put her back in the guest room.

She couldn’t begin to guess how he’d gotten in here, though. She doubted he could fit through the windows -- not while carrying her, anyway. Well, whatever; she liked that bit of mystery of his.

And now she was being roused out of a very comfortable sleep. Ugh,  _ life _ .

Snapping her fingers, Cecilia hissed, “Jo, get up! Raphael is downstairs!”

... _ What? _

Jolted back to full consciousness, Jo regarded her mother with shock. “...Say that again?” she pressed.

“Raphael. Is. Downstairs. Talking to your grandparents,” Cecilia hinted sharply.

What the  _ hell? _ Scrambling up, Jo threw on the first articles of clothing she could find and rushed out, not even bothering to check her hair -- usually that was item number one on her list of morning activities. And as she darted down the stairs, she found Raphael in a chair, her grandparents across from him on the couch...and one of the toddlers on his knee.

Lulu, Jo thought.

Her steps slowed to a halt, taking in the scene before her: aside from Naomi and her husband, Enele, no one else was in this room. Tataio, their son, was with the rest of the family, watching from the dining room -- across the hall from the living room. 

And the moment Jo rounded the stairs, all eyes seized on her. Raphael grinned at her, totally devil-may-care, and she caught Laini glancing between him and her, thoughtful.

Well, at least everyone seemed calm, she thought. But what the hell had brought this on?

Aloud, she ventured, “Uh, good morning?”

Alex waved her over, saying, “ _ Aloha, kūkā. _ We were just having a talk with your boyfriend,” he said, emphasizing the last two words just enough to make her feel like she was in trouble.

As if reading her mind, Raphael told her, “They’re not mad.”

Stepping closer, she waved her hand at the scene, asking, “Okay, so, how did this happen? Why’s Lulu in your lap?”

The smirk he gave her told her he was thinking something along the lines of,  _ Feeling jealous? _

She gave him an exasperated look in response.

Taking charge, Laini explained, “Lulu was missing this morning. We couldn’t find her anywhere. Then...” Sending Raphael a glance, she went on, “Well,  _ he _ delivered her back home.”

The look he gave Lulu said he wasn’t too happy about the event. He told Jocelyn, “She wouldn’t jus’ go home. I kept putting her at the edge of the property and she kept comin’ back t’me. So I had to put her on the deck and knock. Tried to get away before anyone saw, but--” he gestured the dining room, “--kid saw me.”

When Jo looked, she saw Lasalo identifying himself with a raised hand.

“She’s been stuck to him since,” Naomi noted.

_ Okay. This is fine, _ Jo told herself. “And...everyone’s okay with this?” she checked, looking between faces.

“Not at first,” Alex admitted. “There was some screaming...” Giving her a sideways look, he observed, “I’m surprised you didn’t hear it.”

“I’m not,” Raphael added.

Jo gave him a blank look as her mother agreed, patting her arm, “My girl’s the deepest sleeper you’ll ever meet.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Jo deadpanned.

“You’re welcome, love.”

Unable to stop a laugh, Jo shook her head. “Alright, so,” she began, “what, exactly, did I miss, here?”

“Leila intervened,” Laini told her.

“I was long gone by then,” Raphael added. 

Lulu chose then to twist around, getting to her feet and wobbling her way to his shoulder. As they talked, she climbed, and he was careful to keep a hand between her and his rock-hard shell as she climbed over him.

It was so freaking cute, she just had to  _ awww _ .

He huffed, looking away from her.

_ Poser attitude still intact, _ she thought, amused.

Continuing, Laini went on, “She told us about him -- and you -- and how she believed him to be a  _ kupua _ . So we decided, between that and the fact that he’d returned Lulu to us without a scratch, that we should invite him to breakfast.”

_ None _ of that had been expected. Sure, Leila had told Jo that her grandparents would accept him, but she’d still figured it would be a struggle. To just so easily go with it...

Rubbing at her eyes, Jo asked, “Okay, that’s really cool and all, but how did Lulu go missing anyway?”

Wincing, Raphael explained, “My fault. I had to come in through the back to get you in bed, she was up then and saw me. I thought she’d just go back to bed, so I left -- later I heard everyone yellin’ for her and figured she’d followed me. So I went lookin’ for her.”

Answering for herself, Lulu said -- while studying her own fingers, “We went through the doors.”

_ We? _

Looking at Naomi, Jo silently questioned that; Naomi replied, “She’s struggling with singulars and plurals right now. She means ‘I’.”

Curious now, Jo took a seat in the open chair beside Raphael’s, asking Lulu, “Lulu, hey? Can you tell me why you followed Raphael outside?”

Attention swapping to her, Lulu answered, “We like new friends.” Grinning, she added, “Turtles are friends.”

Raphael sighed at that, but he was also giving a reluctant smile.

_ Kids. _

Enele chimed in then with, “Apparently she unlocked the back door to get out.”

Nodding, Raphael confirmed, “I locked it after I left. She says she went back to sleep, then woke up again and decided to come lookin’ for me.”

“We already scolded her for that,” Naomi added more firmly. “It was very dangerous.”

Lulu lowered her gaze, bottom lip sticking out. “We just wanted to make friends,” she murmured.

And Raphael, the softshell, offered her a distraction: his hand. It was big enough to almost totally engulf the girl’s entire head, and of course that was the first thing she did; with a giggle she smacked her face right into his palm, tiny hands holding his thumb and pinky.

“We  _ are _ friends,” he told her. “Think I’ll just let anyone sit on my shoulder?”

Withdrawing, she beamed at him, delighted. “Lulu and Rafal are friends!” she declared.

Well, Jo thought, that was officially the cutest thing she’d ever been privy to.

* * *

 

Unsurprisingly, Jocelyn was no longer the most interesting person present. As the day continued, Raphael remained the center of attention; if adults weren’t talking to him, then kids were demanding his presence. Lulu only let go of him a handful of times, and only because she was in potty training.

The younger boys, in particular, were fascinated. Jo had a front-row seat as they pestered her boyfriend with questions and demands; the moment he revealed that he was a ninja, they all but had a collective meltdown. From then on it was nothing but a series of  _ do this _ and  _ show us that _ .

To his credit, Raphael more swelled in pride than anything, happy to acquiesce as long as it meant the kids grew  _ more _ impressed with him. Almost every time she glanced over to see what her man was up to, she found him doing something physical: lifting all three boys with one arm, doing a flip or twist, showing off with his sai, punching a new crater into a boulder, and so on.

Those kids really needed to stop with those demands. They might only find it cool, but Jocelyn found it arousing -- not that she could be blamed for that. She loved absolutely everything about him, and him showing off like that stirred her in the worst way. 

She found it hilarious when the group decided to play a variant of Hide-And-Go-Seek, though. The rules apparently changed to mean only Raphael was hiding and the rest were seeking, and she was willing to bet they’d never find him unless he allowed it.

So she joined in.

Then Leila did. Then the girls, Hyeon, her able-bodied aunts...

Soon it was the entire Matautia family against one trained ninja, and only Jocelyn had any idea how to find him once he’d ghosted. To his credit, though, he was evading her better than usual; it really hit home the point that in all their previous similar games, he’d been  _ letting _ her find him -- toying with her, teasing her, leading her. 

But that only served to make her more driven to win this game. She needed to have that victory, to know that all her time spent with him and in her own training had paid off, that she had at least a  _ bit _ of the same ability that he did.

She didn’t find him, though -- he found  _ her _ .

Out of nowhere she found herself being swept off her feet, tearing a terrified shriek out of her before she realized it was Raphael’s arms around her. Her scream became loud, nervous laughs, and she shoved at him from a mixture of anger and excitement.

“You  _ jerk, _ how long were you following me?!” she demanded.

“Few minutes,” he answered, smug.

“Jerk,” she reiterated.

He brought his forehead to hers, correcting low, “Yer favorite jerk.”

“Modest as ever,” she muttered.

“Ya love it.”

God, did she ever. 

She couldn’t help reaching out, then, her hand stroking his neck as she murmured, “None of this was supposed to happen, but I’m really glad it did. I don’t like having to hide you -- having to hide  _ us,”  _ she emphasized.

Catching on to where she was going with this, he gave her a smirk. “Go on, say it,” he invited.

_ This praise whore, _ she thought, even as she finished, “Thank you -- for completely defying my wishes and sneaking aboard the flight here.”

He chuckled; then, sobering, he replied, “I should be thanking _ you _ \-- for settin’ me straight last night.”

Tilting her head, she asked, “Would you really have left, if I’d agreed?”

Hesitating, he answered, “If it meant ya had a better life without me? Yeah. But I’d’ve hated it.”

“As well you should,” she retorted.

He laughed. “Tha’s my babe,” he cooed.

“Mm,” she agreed. “I’ll always be here to give you a verbal smackdown when you start being an idiot.” 

“Promise,” he prompted, a sly grin taking up root.

She kissed him, then vowed, “I promise you’ll never be rid of me.”

His gaze, then, said everything for him: 

She was his whole world.

With another kiss, she sent the message right back. The shiver that rent through him told her it’d been received. 

Perfect. 


	60. Chapter 60

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing/sexual implications

* * *

* * *

* * *

“So, Raphael,” Laini began, “where have you been sleeping?”

It was awkward for the mutant, having his girlfriend’s grandmother question him like this. If he’d once considered Cecilia a harsh critic, Laini seemed to be twice that -- the way she looked at him was far more unnerving, like she was seeing much deeper under his shell than Cecilia ever could.

But he didn’t get the impression she held any disapproval, which only served to make him even  _ more _ unbalanced. What was she thinking...?

They were outside, the sun slowly setting after a full day of insanity. Alex, Jake, Hyeon, and Enele were manning a pair of grills, making dinner in the form of typical burgers and hot dogs as well as skewers of things Raphael didn’t know the names for but was  _ very much _ enjoying the scents of. He was pretty sure they were mixtures of mushrooms, fruits, and seaweed, but beyond that he had no clue. He wasn’t even sure if he was smelling fish or not.

“I have a camp,” he half-explained, hedging.

The weirdest part of this, he admitted, was the fact that Laini and Jocelyn had the same eyes -- fifty years apart. It was like having an older, wiser version of his girlfriend grilling him.

“Then you have a bed, a blanket, a stove?” she checked.

“More or less,” was his ambiguous answer.

The look she gave him then was familiar -- Jocelyn often had that same, exasperated pique, letting him know without words that he was testing the woman’s patience. It was eerie as hell.

“I was asking,” Laini stressed, “if you’d like an upgrade.”

That gave him pause, thinking about the layout of the house. Every spare inch had been taken up by sleeping bags and trundle beds when he’d been here last night; he could say with absolute certainty that there was no way they’d be able to make room for a six-foot-seven mammoth like him, even if he retreated into his shell.

“Trust me,” he told her, “ya won’t be able t’make room for me. I’m fine, anyway.”

She got that look again, confusing him -- what had he said?

“Raphael,” she began, firm, “we have tents for the kids. They can sleep outside for a night.”

That...actually offended him. Narrowing his gaze, he blurted, “Ya want t’take space away from  _ kids? _ For me?” He scoffed. “I can handle the weather better than they ever could, tent or not. No, Laini -- they stay inside. Safer for ‘em anyway.”

Even more offensive, Laini looked surprised, like she hadn’t expected him to be selfless. He bristled.

“...Alright,” she said, relenting. “Pardon my confusion, but I thought you would appreciate the opportunity to spend a night indoors.”

It clicked, then, and a wash of shame hit him. She hadn’t been condescending, she’d been offering him a reward. And he’d gotten mad at her for it.

Oops.

Wincing, he tried, “Nah, it’s no big deal. I don’t mind it. ‘Sides, we  _ do _ got a home back in New York. Indoors,” he hedged, opting to keep the exact whereabouts of his home private. “Point is,” he forged on, “I don’t need any special treatment. I can handle...” He paused, thinking, then finished bluntly, “Anything.”

Laini was nodding, taking in his words, and now she replied, “Well, the offer stands, if you change your mind. I’m sure Jocelyn would like having you closer,” she added, sly.

Raph chuckled. “If she wanted me closer, she’d come to me,” he told the older woman.

For a second the grandmother looked amused; then her expression shifted to one of realization. “That was why she was missing that night -- she was with you,” Laini murmured.

He gave a tentative grin. “Y-yeah. She didn’t mean t’fall asleep,” he assured Laini, “she just... Anyway, I have a hard time wakin’ her up when she nods off, so I just let her sleep. That’s on me,” he said.

Laini waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s fine. We were just a little--”

She was interrupted as a tornado of kids sprinted by, one of the young girls weaving between his legs and two of the boys swiping at each other around Laini as she laughed, amused. Jocelyn and Leila converged on the gang from opposite directions, swiping and grabbing at the kids as they kicked up dirt trying to evade the older girls’ hands. Peeling laughter echoed, drawing the gazes of numerous adults with indulgent smiles.

Damn -- now  _ Raphael _ was getting the urge to stay here. It was hectic as hell, but he found himself enjoying the noise and energy. It reminded him of when he was a kid, himself, spending all his time roughhousing with his brothers. Picking fights for the sake of fighting, cheering on one brother over another just to make things more chaotic, settling ties with more fights...

This was different, but it was eerily familiar all the same. Unable to resist, Raph joined in by grabbing the nearest kid to him -- Lasalo, he thought -- and hefting him up. The boy kicked and dissolved into laughter, breathlessly squealing for help, and suddenly Raph was the center of an attempted dogpile as the younger kids all tried to force him down.

It was hilarious to him, all these kids -- plus Leila and Jocelyn, once they decided to join in -- trying to knock him down and being unable to budge him. It was times like this when he was so happy to exist, proud to be a mutant turtle.

“Wassa matter?” he taunted the group. “Thought ya wanted yer cousin back!” He lifted Lasalo up in the air, above his head, and the boy all but died with laughter.

Figuring they weren’t going to be able to knock Raphael down, the younger ones started to climb him instead; suddenly six pairs of hands and feet were trying to find purchase on the giant turtle’s form, tugging at his clothes, armor, harness, and even his shell.

Leila backed off at that point with a sharp, “Yeah, nope, I’m out!”

Jocelyn, on the other hand, just stepped back with a grin. Watching.

“‘Ey,” Raph called to her, “ya gonna help or what?”

“Now why would I do that?” she teased, amused.

“I was helpin’  _ you,” _ he pointed out. “Captured a kid for ya an’ everything!”

Chuckling, she nodded, relenting. “Alright, alright. I gotcha!” she crowed as she pounced, yanking an older girl -- Safina? -- off Raphael. Then, to the rest of the kids, she demanded, “Who’s more important -- her or him? Choose now!”

Safina was wriggling and fighting against Jocelyn’s superior grip, and soon she and Lasalo were trying to out-shout one another for help, splitting the attention of the remaining kids.

This continued for a ridiculously long amount of time, the two adults always keeping two kids apart from their cousins, only broken up when Alex firmly called out that it was time for dinner and to settle down. At once everything calmed, the kids relenting their game in favor of food.

The problem for Raphael, then, was  _ not _ eating absolutely everything. He was used to wolfing down enough food for six humans per meal; keeping up both his physique  _ and _ his mutant anatomy wasn’t an easy task, and since arriving here he’d been subsisting on canned foods and ramen at a fraction of his normal meal size.

Not a difficult thing for a ninja, and before April started shopping for them they’d definitely had worse anyway, but he was missing it now. He couldn’t help sending looks Jocelyn’s way, knowing that she knew his struggle -- both because she cooked a lot at home and because she was an athlete, too.

Her grandfather and uncles had made a feast, but with this many people there would be little and less leftovers. Worse, everything tasted  _ incredible, _ far different from the familiarity of New York’s cuisine but in a great way. He would definitely miss this once they went back home, though he suspected Jocelyn was going to start studying up on Hawaiian dishes as a result of all this.

He envisioned a lot of pineapple in his future and he was  _ mostly _ okay with that.

Unsurprisingly, as soon as he had a plate (and four skewers) and had taken a seat, Jocelyn joined him on one side and Lulu on his other. He’d expected it, yet was still a little overwhelmed by it. Lulu didn’t have good control of her fork and kept launching food off her plate on accident, much to his amusement.

Jocelyn leaned against him in a blatant show of affection before asking, “So, had enough yet?”

_ Tease. _

“Should be askin’  _ you _ that,” he countered, knowing she meant her twenty-something relations. “You’ve had four days with all’o them. Need a break yet?”

“Not before you,” she threw back. “I’m an extrovert -- gimme chaos, I thrive in it.”

“You sayin’ I’m not?” he demanded, borderline offended.

“Nah -- you’re an extrovert too, just also really socially awkward.”

“Keep talkin’,” he warned.

She grinned. “Why, whatcha gonna do ‘bout it?”

He didn’t need to answer that verbally -- she knew what he’d do.

And, he could see, she was counting on it.

_ Femme fatale, _ he thought, and not for the first time. God, he loved her.

Leila joined them then, sitting on Jocelyn’s opposite side. “It’s so weird listening to you two,” she commented. “That New Yorker drawl -- it’s weird.”

“So’s your accent,” Jocelyn pointed out. “Never heard it before I met you guys.”

“Hey,” Leila added sharply, “does this mean Uncle Enoka had that accent, too?”

“The New York one? Yeah,” Jocelyn nodded.

“Your mom doesn’t, though,” Leila noted.

Jocelyn shrugged. “She zeroes it out most of the time. It’s there, she’s just...very professional. She plays the part.”

“Cause of that lawyer stuff?”

“Exactly.”

“What about you?” Leila checked, leaning around Jocelyn to focus on Raphael. When he paused mid-bite, unsure what she wanted, she clarified, “I mean, you and your family. All of you have the accent?”

“Not at all, actually,” Jocelyn chuckled while he quickly finished his bite.

Shaking his head, he answered, “Just me.”

“Why’s that?” Leila asked.

Shrugging, he ventured, “Didn’t really care t’figure that out. Mikey’s got kind of a skater thing goin’ on, probably from all the TV he sucked in as a kid. Leo an’ Donnie just sound normal, I guess. An’ Dad’s always had a Japanese accent...never wondered why.”

Leila blinked at him, some mixture of surprised and dumbfounded. A thoughtful, “...Huh,” was her only response.

“We’re all products of our environments,” Jocelyn offered. “Just so happens that when your environment is the media as a whole, you pick up whatever.” Looking at him sideways, she added, “Maybe that’s why you got the Brooklyn accent and they didn’t: cause you were the only one really listening to the city.”

That...was a humbling thought, and it made a lot of sense. He’d always felt like a part of the city in a way his brothers didn’t seem to be; as kids, while the others were focused on themselves and what they wanted, he was usually catching whatever glimpses he could of the outside world.

It was no wonder, then, that his brothers ended up mimicking other speech patterns. Their education came from everywhere -- television, radio, movies, the internet -- while Raph’s came almost exclusively from the nearest city block.

“...When’d you become a shrink?” he wondered aloud, contemplating what remained of his third skewer.

Jocelyn laughed. “I blame Malia. She got me thinking about, y’know, really intrinsic stuff. She asked about my tattoo,” she informed Raph. “Been a long time now since I thought about it that hard.”

He couldn’t help reaching over, then, bringing his hand to her back. Though she was wearing a spaghetti-strap top and combined with her hair it completely shrouded the tattoo, he knew the exact dimensions of it by now and ran a fingertip over the edges. “I think ‘bout it all the time,” he admitted.

Looking at him sideways, she checked quietly, “Really?”

He nodded. “Jus’ about every time I see it, an’ sometimes while yer out.”

He could see, then, a flood of emotion start to overtake her. She set her plate aside and leaned against him; he brought his arm around her and lowered his head to bury his nose in her hair. When he felt her hand settle on his neck, he let out a soft churr -- a short, quiet one (not that anyone could hear it anyway), just for her. It was the most private moment he could give her in the midst of all this noise and activity.

She hummed in response, then murmured, “I love you, baby.”

Heat burned through his face and neck. “...Gonna put me on the spot like that?” he bit out. “In front’a all these people?”

Tilting her chin up, she nipped his jaw. “Whisper it,” she breathed.

Little vixen.

Hiding his face as best he could in her wild curls, he acquiesced with a low, “Love ya, babe.”

When he drew back enough to see her face, her eyes said he’d just made her happier than this entire trip could’ve achieved.

Okay, yeah, he admitted it now -- trying to make her stay here “for her own good” had been a stupid idea. Nothing and no one could put that look in her eyes except  _ him _ .

...Fuck if that didn’t start a fire in his heart.

* * *

 

“What do you think?” Laini asked her husband (in Hawaiian) as the pair of them readied for bed.

Alex sent her a glance, shrugging out of his button-up shirt. “About what? Or who?” he prompted, a look in his eye saying he knew what she was getting at but wanted the confirmation.

“Our granddaughter and her boyfriend,” she answered. “Do you really think he’s a  _ kupua, _ for one thing?”

Shrugging, he offered, “Couldn’t say, but I’ve been watching him today. He has a good heart. And he seems to be great with kids,” he added, thoughtful.

Laini had noticed that, too. She’d been concerned that Raphael’s very mass would pose a threat to her young grandkids, but she’d found him to be fully aware of his own presence at all times. He never seemed to so much as move his arms without checking his surroundings first, and she’d seen him stop walking on a dime when the kids had neared, letting them safely make their way around him.

He’d claimed to have been trained as a ninja. Perhaps that was why he always appeared so in control of himself -- and so aware of his surroundings.

“And Jocelyn seems utterly lost for him,” Laini commented now, thinking of the way her blonde granddaughter had been around the reptile.

“As is he for her,” Alex agreed. “Call me crazy, but I think they fit together.”

“Well, you’re not crazy,” she told him. “Did you see the way he looked at her all night? I swear, he never didn’t know exactly where she was.”

Alex chuckled, climbing into bed now that he’d changed into pajama bottoms and a tank top. “I saw,” he assured Laini. “To be fair, I think Jocelyn never didn’t know where he was, either -- unless that was the point.”

Knowing where this was going, she asked, “How long do you think that ninja game was going on after the two of them came back?”

“Fifteen minutes, easy,” he answered with a laugh. “Aleki was the first to come back and find them.”

The sound Aleki had made, too -- such a loud, aggravated groan, head thrown back...it’d been hilarious. The young lovers had been in stitches, cackling madly. Then he’d stomped off to find his brother and cousins and drag them back with the news that they’d lost the game.

Sobering then, Laini gave a sigh, her memory casting back to how all this had started. Losing Lulu, frantically searching for her, terrified that maybe the youngest had gone out to the beach...

Sensing her mood, Alex took her hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. “Lulu?” he checked, guessing where her thoughts had gone.

Nodding, she confessed, “She had me in a panic. I was so scared she might’ve drowned, I couldn’t breathe.” Meeting her husband’s gaze, she continued, “I’m so glad Raphael brought her back home, but at the same time...I feel it was his fault, anyway.”

Nodding, Alex took that in. “I had the same thought,” he admitted. “But, in the end, it wasn’t his ‘fault’ -- Lulu decided to go after him, to unlock the door. He did everything he could to leave everything the way it was. Lulu was just...being a child.” 

Laini admitted to herself that Alex was right. Sure, she could argue that everything  _ was _ Raphael’s fault -- for following Jocelyn, for being here, for breaking into their home to put her in bed, and so on -- but it would be irresponsible to do so. It would erase everyone’s individual autonomy and put the blame on someone who had intentionally been trying to avoid being seen.

No, none of this was his fault.

As a new thought came to mind, she asked, “And his family? His brothers and father? He said they were mutants, too. Do you think all of them are turtles?”

Shrugging, Alex offered, “He didn’t say otherwise.” Then, running a hand through her white curls, he commented, “You’re very bothered by all this, aren’t you, dear?”

She nodded, though it made her feel bad to know she wasn’t fully alright with things as they were. “It was...a surprise. All of it. First we learn our son passed on, then we have a daughter-in-law, then a granddaughter, then her boyfriend is a  _ kupua, _ now he’s here with us...what other surprises are waiting? It’s all so much to take,” she sighed.

Alex gave her a gentle smile. “Maybe she’ll reveal she’s also pregnant,” he teased.

Laini scoffed, nudging him. “Don’t toy with my emotions like that,” she warned.

“Who’s toying? If he’s a true  _ kupua, _ then he’s a child of gods--”

_ “Aya,”  _ she huffed, “and so are we, if you believe the stories.”

“Who wouldn’t?” he replied smartly. “My ancestors trace their lineage back to Pele. Yours trace their lineage back to both Hina and Laka. Who wouldn’t choose to believe in that?”

She chuckled. “Who, then, is Raphael’s ancestor, hmm?” she challenged.

Shrugging, he offered, “Namaka?”

“If he comes from Namaka, and you come from Pele,” Laini pointed out, “then he and Jocelyn are cousins.”

He hesitated, then offered another shrug. “With a thousand generations between them and us, does it matter?”

She laughed. “You are trying very hard, beloved, but I don’t think you can reason this one out.”

“It’s besides the point, anyway,” he said, relenting. “I think, all things considered...he is a good man and worthy of our granddaughter -- a worthy inclusion to our family.”

She gave him a small smile, nodding to herself. “Well, he certainly proved himself, anyway. Bringing Lulu back as he had, trying to remain unseen...he clearly didn’t want recognition, just for her to be safe.”

“A good heart,” Alex confirmed. Then, as they settled into bed, switching off their separate table lamps, he ventured, “What do you think the chances are of her actually being pregnant?”

“Alex,” Laini sighed. She didn’t like that he was thinking of this -- it left her feeling very unsettled.

“I’m serious,” he pressed. “If he’s truly a  _ kupua, _ then it’s possible.”

“I’ll ask her,” she replied with a tone that warned him to drop it. In truth, she didn’t want to breach that subject; it’d be too much too soon. They’d barely had two months to grow accustomed to the fact that their son had given them two more family members, and less than a day to come to terms with the fact that their granddaughter had a nonhuman lover.

Finding out that she was -- or even could get -- pregnant by him, too? A part of Laini recoiled from the thought, too emotionally stressed to handle it right now.

But the idea had been planted and now she couldn’t help but wonder.

* * *

 

There was a freedom, a joy, in having no secrets, Jocelyn found. She was free to be affectionate with her lover -- in front of her brand new extended family -- and it lifted a weight off her that had always been present before. After all, she’d never been able to say a single word about Raphael the entire time they’d known each other, both for his safety and hers.

Those who knew about him and his family were always either accidents, unavoidable meetings, or carefully-chosen, long-discussed inclusions. Cassie was the only one who fell outside those parameters (to Jo’s knowledge) and only because Raphael had made the snap decision to show himself to her.

This -- meeting her family -- had been another accident. Yet the result had been nothing but positive, even if some of the adults still seemed a little tense around him. The kids, at least, showed no fear, and it was through their constant attention on Raphael that Jo saw the adults’ lingering hesitations begin to fade.

He even aided that endeavor unintentionally just by being himself -- namely by protecting the children whenever one of them was in the path of danger. It was rare, but with these many kids around it was also unavoidable; twice so far someone had dropped an object and, thanks to its landing, it had ricocheted towards another kid. Both times Raphael had simply caught it before it could injure anyone.

Considering one time the object in question had been a pair of scissors, everyone was notably more comfortable around Raphael than they had been before.

Jo soaked up secondhand pride from those events, thinking to herself that  _ this _ magnificent creature was  _ hers _ and feeling her core warm at the notion.

“Jocelyn?”

Her reverie was broken at the call, bringing her attention to her aunt Alana. “Hi,” she greeted, curious why her aunt was invading her thoughts.

Smiling, Alana ventured, “This is a little direct, but Nari had a question for you...” As she spoke, she looked behind her, bringing her 11-year-old into the spotlight.

Nari offered a look of betrayal to her mother before clearing her throat, tentatively saying, “Everyone says you’re a ballerina...I was wondering...could you show me something?”

The hope in her eyes -- fragile and desperate at once -- wrecked Jo in half a second flat.

To say she was always more than willing to induct more kids into the world of ballet would be putting it mildly. Jo was on her feet in a split second, nodding and agreeing quickly, “No problem, I got’chu. First, though, I haven’t warmed up yet, and it’s dangerous to try any ballet moves without stretching first, so...”

The lesson began immediately. And, as Jo worked on her stretches and warm-up exercises, she found herself feeling more than a little humbled. After all, Raphael -- the super cool ninja mutant turtle -- was right there, and yet Nari had come to (the  _ nearly _ as super cool) Jocelyn to learn about ballet.

Everyone else was crowded around her beau, demanding to see ‘that thing’ just one more time. It was practically a school day for the group, they were so enraptured. The fact that even  _ one _ of them was with Jocelyn, instead, flattered the hell out of her.

“First, a warning,” she was saying to the youngster, “ballet is much harder than most people think it is. It’ll hurt, it’ll bruise, it’ll bleed, it’ll leave you bedridden if you’re not careful. Never, ever,  _ ever _ try to practice on your own, either; it’s way too easy to accidentally hurt yourself without an instructor. And the thing is, you’ll be twisting and bending your body in ways it doesn’t want to twist and bend, so it’s always super hard at the start. But if you don’t give up, it can be the most rewarding life you can possibly have.”

She got more than a little carried away with the speech, but there was so much to say, so many warnings and explanations to give...

“For today, I’m your instructor,” she told Nari -- the girl was looking a little more tense, borderline overwhelmed. Concerned, Jo checked, “You still feel like giving this a shot?”

Rallying, Nari gave a firm nod, her expression hardening to one of determination. “Y-yeah. Yes. I want to try,” she assured Jo.

Impressed with the conviction of her cousin, Jo went ahead into the lesson then. She made sure to explain the warm-up moves and stretches before, during, and after a demonstration of each, pointing out which muscles were being worked out and how.

Within minutes she found herself drawing a crowd; they were mostly adults, her mother included, but she found both Lasalo and Hyeon among the audience as well. She invited the group to join in, finding to her surprise that the number of students increased from one to five -- Leila included.

Then she caught Raphael leaning against a wall, watching her with an indulgent smirk, and she sent him a borderline haughty wink in response.  _ These are  _ my _ students now, _ she sent him wordlessly.

His brows jumped, amused, but he didn’t move or fight to get the attention back on him.

Over an hour passed before her students began complaining that it was difficult, and Jo’s response was a loud, disappointed tisk. “You think this is hard? Just wait ‘til you join a ballet college.”

Nari looked horrified for a second, then shook herself. “I can handle it,” she declared, every inch the confident young lady.

Jo ruffled Nari’s (perfectly straight) short, fluffy hair. “I’m sure,” she replied.

Nari rolled her eyes.  _ That’s familiar, _ Jo thought, amused.

She ended the lesson then, letting the kids disperse. Many complained about aching muscles and the fact that Jocelyn wasn’t the least bit sweaty despite the fact that she’d been working harder than them, and she let them believe it was due to her advanced ballet experience -- in fact, she credited the mutagen in her for that particular boost.

She all but skipped over to her lover then, grinning from ear to ear. “Well, that was fun,” she said.

Raphael looked amused, still. “Yeah? Looked like a couple’a the kids were gonna keel over,” he noted.

“Oh, that’s just a typical day in ballet,” she told him with a flippant wave of her hand. “It was refreshing, though.”

_ “That _ was refreshing?” he echoed, gesturing where the kids were still limping away. “Looked more like torture t’me.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” she noted. He smirked. “Seriously, though, I missed this.”

“It’s been five days,” he commented dryly.

“And I usually practice daily. Your point?” she challenged. When he just chuckled, she nudged him. “C’mon, admit it -- I work just as hard at ballet as you do at ninja’ing.”

He scoffed. “Not even half.”

“Liar.”

“Not this time,” he told her.

His firm tone gave her doubts. Granted, she’d been teasing with her comment anyway, but his attitude just now intrigued her. “Yeah?” she prompted. “Maybe if you let me watch sometime I’d have a better grasp of what all goes into your training.” Shrugging, she added, “Besides, it’s only fair -- you’ve seen me do my full routines a ton of times.”

“That’s cause your routines are sexy as fuck,” he grinned -- then coughed, realizing a second too late that he wasn’t supposed to curse around so many kids.

She laughed. “You ever think that maybe I show off a bunch, just for you?” she hinted.

His gaze said yes, he had thought that. Lowering his head, he murmured quietly, “Same thing’ll happen if you watch me -- I’ll be showin’ off the whole time.”

“That’s supposed to deter me?” she shot back, a sly grin splitting her face.

“Nah -- s’posed t’tempt ya,” he added, and she knew he was slurring just because he knew she loved it. 

“It’s workin’,” she purred, unable to stop a little shimmy in return for his teasing. “Ya gonna have me needin’ a bathroom break soon here if ya keep that up.”

His grin said that’d been his intent.

Naughty boy.

They were interrupted before they could get physical, though, as Laini inserted herself into their little private bubble.

“Jocelyn, darling?” she ventured, giving Raphael an ambiguous glance as their attention shifted to the older woman.

“Yeah?” Jo replied, backing off a step for propriety’s sake. “What’s up?”

“I have a question for you,” Laini explained, gesturing away from Raphael.

Privacy requested. No problem. Sending him a wink, Jo purred, “Be right back -- wait for me.”

He snorted, shaking his head with a wide grin. “No promises,” he said as the two women stepped aside. 

She was tempted to flip him off as the final word, but decided against it as she noticed Lulu and Natia playing with dolls nearby. Best not to be  _ too _ rude in front of the young ones, she reasoned.

Once she was alone with Laini, her grandmother began, “You’ll have to excuse me, but I have a very personal question. It’s all your grandfather’s fault,” she added with a note of humor, passing the blame off.

Jo snorted. “Got it. I’ll go get righteously angry with him later,” she promised. “Now what’s this about? You got me almost worried what’s on your mind.”

It didn’t help that Laini hesitated to answer, clearly reluctant to breach the subject. It took her a moment to build up the nerve, and then she asked, “Are you possibly...pregnant?”

‘Surprise’ was a very mild way of describing Jocelyn’s reaction then. “Pregnant?” she echoed, working through a measure of stun. What the hell made Laini wonder  _ that? _ Worse, the question brought up old aches, dropping her mood.

Shaking her head, she answered, “No -- I  _ can’t _ get pregnant, not from Raphael. What brought this on, anyway?”

Her pain must’ve been broadcasted because Laini winced, offering comforting touches and pats. “I’m sorry, dear -- I apologize for even asking. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just...concerned,” she explained.

Jocelyn backed up a step, needing some space right then. “It’s fine,” she lied, “don’t worry about it. The answer is no, he can’t get me pregnant. He’s a reptile, I’m a mammal, get it? I know you guys settled on the whole  _ kupua _ idea, and I love that, but he’s not human. Not even a little. Sorry, I need to go,” she rushed out, ignoring further calls and requests as she headed back to her lover.

She was shaken all the way down to her core from that encounter and was definitely going to need time to reboot. Though he’d been too far away to hear anything, she saw Raphael was already on alert, eyes on her. He must’ve read her body language, and knowing her like he did, he knew she was coming right for him.

She didn’t even have to say anything. The instant she reached out to him, he was there, an arm around her as he led her out of the house. A part of her mused that her family knew about Raphael, and now they were going to learn a lot about his relationship with her -- namely the way he pulled her away from anything distressing the very instant she was uncomfortable.

That part hoped they came to the conclusion that she was never safer or more well-protected than when he was near, but the rest was having difficulty caring what they thought right then.

“Take me somewhere to hide,” she said, and that was all she was worried about.

She wasn’t going to tell him  _ why _ she was so upset right now -- it would just make him hurt, too -- and she knew he wouldn’t press her about it, but damn if she didn’t need him to get over it. 

He took her to his little hideaway and there she remained, slowly recovering as a piece of her mourned what would never be. 


	61. Chapter 61

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing)

* * *

* * *

* * *

Knowing Jocelyn was upset -- well, it was upsetting. For all that Raphael knew her, inside and out, for all that he’d grown since she came into his life, he still had little ability to soothe her when she got like this. It was worse now than usual, too...because she wasn’t telling him  _ why _ she was upset.

The most he got out of her was, “No -- it’ll just stress you out, too.”

He loved that she didn’t want to distress him, that she would rather take on burdens herself than burden him, but at the same time, he couldn’t say that this silence was any better. At the very least, he was left at a disadvantage, being kept in the dark like this.

An almost ironic thought, given that ninjas thrived in the shadows.

For a long while Jocelyn did nothing but lean against him and stare up at the sky through the trees, watching the leaves and fronds around them. Those who didn’t know her would probably think she was at ease, just enjoying the quiet and the breeze and the scents around them; Raphael knew better.

The way she held herself, her silence and stillness...it all pointed to a deep pain, and it pained  _ him _ that he didn’t know why she was hurting. He knew one thing, though: if she didn’t tell him what had happened, he was going to get it straight from the horse’s mouth.

Straight from Laini.

He stroked his lover’s hair as she dealt with her own thoughts, carefully lacing his fingers through her curls in a pattern he’d learned through sheer experience. Though her distress still upset him, the act was steadily soothing for the both of them; her shoulders slowly relaxed and the burn in his veins gradually cooled. He wasn’t a patient man, but for her he was willing to wait.

It was when she closed her eyes and twisted more towards him that he knew she’d cleared whatever hurdle had been holding her back, and he ventured, “Feelin’ better?”

She nodded. “Just had to convince myself of a few things,” she replied.

“Like what?”

“Like...what doesn’t matter,” she hedged.

That particular phrase made him suspicious but he didn’t want to assume -- not with her emotional state at risk. Still, knowing she  _ wouldn’t _ tell him what was on her mind was irritating. He needed  _ something _ , some kind of answer.

“Can’t tell me?” he checked, unable to keep a thread of annoyance from his tone.

She looked away, hiding behind her curls in a way he recognized: she was ashamed of herself.

_ Ouch. _ Just knowing she felt this way hurt him -- after all, this was  _ Jocelyn, _ the single  _ least _ shameful being alive. He could count on one hand how often he’d seen her like this, and considering he only had three fingers, that was saying something.

“Hey,” he ventured, brushing her hair back and trying to catch her gaze. When she finally let him, he saw reluctance and sorrow in her. Another lance of pain hit him and he gruffly demanded, “What did she say t’you?”

Offering a weak shrug, Jocelyn replied, “Doesn’t matter.”

In a way, that was true; whatever Laini had said, Jocelyn’s distress was the result and that meant he was going to have words with the older woman. One way or the other he’d... _ fix _ this.

Realizing that he was willing to start a fight with an elderly woman was a strange thing for Raph, but given the context he thought he could be forgiven for it. He just hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Splinter would undoubtedly punish him if he went that far -- he could already hear his father’s words, snapping  _ respect your elders! _ in his ear -- yet he remained willing to do this. For Jocelyn, he’d do anything. It wouldn’t stop him from feeling guilty about it, but he’d still do it.

“Your pain hurts me, too,” he told her now. She winced; he went on, “Jus’ tell me, babe. Let me help.”

At that she dropped her gaze again, and he knew she gave in when she leaned on him. And then she explained: out of nowhere, without any prompting, Laini had asked if Jocelyn was pregnant. Apparently Alex was at fault for that, somehow. 

A kind of twist hit Raph right in the gut, hearing this. No wonder Jocelyn had needed some time alone to recover -- he was feeling the same unsettling squeezes in his chest. This was a subject best not examined, and now they were both being bombarded with sorrow.

Worse, he realized then that he’d already forgiven Laini for the query. It was a natural thing to ask and the older woman was already swamped with grandkids; she’d undoubtedly be thrilled by the idea of having great-grandkids, too. She had no idea how damaging that question was -- for the both of them. Damn it, now he couldn’t even be irritated with her.

He sighed. “Well,” he offered, “here’s hopin’ she learned her lesson.” If not...he didn’t know what he’d do.

Jocelyn twisted in his grasp, coming to straddle him, her arms sliding around his neck. Her face against his skin, she muttered, “I dunno what I’m gonna say to her.”

“Ya already said everythin’ ya had to,” he told her. “Don’t bring it up. If she does, shut her up. Let ‘er know it’s not okay.”

She nodded, giving a vague, agreeable hum. “Good thinkin’. I knew there was a reason I kept you around.”

He chuckled. “Thought it was all the heavy liftin’,” he retorted.

“If by ‘heavy lifting’ you mean ‘sex’, then yes,” she agreed.

That pulled hearty laughs from him, his unease settling. She was fine, he knew then; she wouldn’t be teasing him like this if she wasn’t.

“Tha’s my girl,” he murmured.

* * *

 

Thankfully, Laini didn’t bring up the subject again beyond a heartfelt apology. The moment the couple came back, Laini was on Jocelyn with, “I’m so sorry, dear, I didn’t want to upset you.”

Jo waved her hand in dismissal. “It’s alright, I know you meant well. Just...no more of that, okay?” 

Laini nodded. _ “Maopopo ia’u,” _ she replied; at Jo’s uncomprehending look, she translated, “I understand.”

Good. “Great, then we can move on, yeah?” Jo prompted.

Her grandmother was more than agreeable, hurrying out, “Of course. We have a feast to prepare, after all!”

Surprised, Jo blurted, “More than the other four feasts we prepared?”

Chuckling, Laini corrected, “Were there any leftovers for those dinners? No, because those weren’t feasts.  _ This _ will be.”

“Jesus, giving me that much of a send-off?” Jo checked, following her grandmother’s lead to the kitchen. Her aunts were already working in here -- and her mother, though Cecilia was notably relegated to simple tasks such as mixing and measuring. It made Jo laugh a little, seeing that; her father’s family had obviously picked up on her mother’s complete inability to cook.

“Not just you,” Laini hinted, wedging her way between Malia and Alana. She said something to them in Hawaiian and they nodded, making their way to the dining room table with their trays and bowls.

Alana stepped aside to give Jo a hug then, saying, “It’s been wonderful, meeting you. Pass on my thanks to the one who connected Enoka back to us.”

_ Ugh, _ that hit Jo right in the heart. Giving a nod, she agreed, “Of course. He’ll be thrilled.” As an aside, she added more quietly, “He  _ loves _ being useful.”

Alana chuckled. “I like him already.”

Jo was  _ so _ telling Donnie that.

Considering she was relegated to the kitchen, helping her aunts and grandmother with the “feast”, she had no idea what the rest of the family was doing. Leila was apparently not helping, instead aiding the menfolk as they watched the kids.

It was loud, constantly; between the noise in the kitchen as the ladies chatted, music blaring from the living room, and the occasional stampede of kids through the house or up or down the stairs,  _ silence _ was a foreign concept. Though Jo worried over her great-grandparents, particularly Malae (Laini’s mother), she was assured that they all loved their family enough to tolerate the children.

Besides, it was rare when Alana and her family could visit with everyone else, so the kids had been given  _ almost _ full free reign. They weren’t allowed to go to the beach without supervision, but otherwise they could do as they pleased.

Jo overheard them sometimes, playing various games of pretend -- though they spent most of the time speaking in Hawaiian so she had no idea what, exactly, they were doing.

Soon everything was ready except the dishes that needed to be cooked in the oven or on the grill, so everything else was put aside. A few hours remained until dinnertime, so they separated into smaller groups.

And Jocelyn went right upstairs and changed into her bikini, finally able to indulge in something she’d been wanting since she discovered Raphael was here. All she needed now was his cooperation.

With this [ **killer bikini**](https://66.media.tumblr.com/c4b9b2e6d93bab110d6cfa8032fe9e3f/tumblr_plqw8uXHCM1wtuqpio1_1280.png) , she doubted it would be hard. He’d be bending over backwards to fulfill her desires.

She found him outside, unsurprisingly. He was showing off again, she saw, lifting a large boulder over his head repeatedly for the owl-eyed boys. They were cooing and cheering, impressed. She couldn’t blame them; she’d watched Raphael work out multiple times and still got flushed from it.

Watching those muscles flex and bulge was a treat like no other.

She took a few moments to just admire him before saying, “You’re such a show-off.”

“Look who’s tal--” was his response, cut off when he looked her way and nearly lost his voice at the sight of her. “...kin’,” he finished weakly a second later.

Oh, damn, that was hot.

She waited, letting him get an eyeful of her bright orange bikini and sheer red wrap around her waist. And, she saw, the boys were momentarily stunned too, but while Aleki and Lasalo shook it off quick, Tataio turned bright red. Almost immediately they laid into him, teasing and poking; Tataio turned aggressive, yelling at them to quit it as he fled, embarrassed. The boys followed after him, laughing.

Raphael didn’t even notice. He just lowered the boulder he held until it was across his lap ( _ Hiding something? _ she wondered, amused), cleared his throat, and checked, “Goin’ swimmin’?”

“Yep,” she agreed. Starting to walk past him, she teased, “Wanna join me?”

He took a deep, harsh breath as she went on her way, and she heard him mutter ‘ _ vixen _ ‘ to himself. He was right behind her in seconds -- how long it took to replace the rock and catch up, she thought -- growling low, “Jus’ love pushin’ my buttons, don’t ya?”

Tossing him a grin, she answered, “My favorite pastime.”

His gaze darkened. “Gonna make you pay for that,” he told her quietly.

A thrill raced through her. “Promise?” she pressed.

A sharp  _ swat _ to her rear was his response, drawing a surprised cry from her. She sent him a dark, sultry look, finding him smirking back at her. Okay, now they were playing their game, and she was damn well going to play to win. She let him know as much by shedding her wrap as soon as they were on the beach, making sure to twist and pivot as she made her way into the water for effect.

When she was up to her hips in the ocean, still leading her man, she was suddenly shoved over; with a yelp she went under, popping back up a second later to find him giving her a shit-eating grin as he swam backwards away from her.

Flipping her hair back, she threw the grin right back at him, declaring, “You started it!”

“Finish it,” he challenged, waving her closer with his fingers.

She didn’t have a prayer of catching him if he didn’t want her to and she knew it, but she was damn well going to try. Thus began a different game, filled with laughter instead of purrs. He started it by keeping himself just an arm’s length too far away as she fought to reach him, then splashing her when she nearly got him.

Before she knew it they were pushing each other, splashing almost constantly, and she got tossed more than once. No longer afraid of the loss of control -- especially so when they were in water -- each one had her giving delighted laughs. Time flew by as they played, eventually going from active, heart-pounding exercise to relaxed basking. The sun was setting now, after all, and it distracted Jo, drawing her gaze out to the horizon.

Raphael held her against him as they watched the sky together, the water up to their shoulders. He’d stopped roughhousing the moment her attention had diverted and instead pulled her in, his arm around her waist ensuring she never dipped further under the surface.

“...Puts New York’s sunsets to shame, doesn’t it?” she ventured when the sun was halfway vanished.

He shrugged. “Eh, New York’s always changin’. Always interestin’. Every sunset is different there. Seems like this’d get boring after a while,” he said with a nod at the horizon.

She chuckled. “I ever tell you that I love your perspective?”

“Nah, but you ain’t gotta,” he replied, giving her a tilted-head look. “I know.”

Refocusing on him again, she clucked her tongue. “So modest,” she chided.

“Pot,” he teased. 

“Kettle,” she returned, laughing.

They shared a quiet look then, and maybe it was the romantic setting -- swimming in the ocean as the sun drifted away -- but she couldn’t resist the impulse to kiss him. It was a sweet, gentle one, a soft touch with the goal of feeling rather than inciting; the kind that lingered because neither of them wanted it to end.

The low hum he gave told her he appreciated it.

Some moments later they were interrupted by Leila calling for them. It was time to get dinner started, she said. The couple reluctantly parted, heading back to shore. Jo rinsed off in a shower really quick, but Raphael didn’t bother; the water just runs off him anyway.

Once she was dry and dressed (mostly; her hair would need another few hours to dry by itself, and for this reason she haphazardly put it up in a bun), she came downstairs to a surprise. Everyone was gathered outside, Leila told her, and she came out to find they’d all changed into brightly-colored shirts and dresses.

_ Good thing I match, _ she thought, regarding her yellow spaghetti-strap top. But then her attention seized on a single point: her mother.

...Cecilia was holding an urn, the sight causing a surge of sorrow to twist in her belly. That urn...it’d been sitting on the living room entertainment stand for a decade. What was it doing  _ here...? _

“Mom, what’s going on?” she ventured, hearing a quiver in her own voice. Raphael stepped behind her, sliding an arm around her waist, and she couldn’t tell if the act was in support or restraint.

Cecilia’s smile was watery. “It’s a funeral,” she answered.

Oh, god.

“What? No,” Jo started, her gaze skittering between her relatives -- desperate to see confusion, disgust, surprise; anything that could mean they hadn’t  _ planned _ this -- and that painful, eye-catching urn. “Dad -- Dad already a funeral. Mom, tell me you didn’t -- that you didn’t bring that here cause--”

She cut herself off there, unable to finish her sentence.

Unfortunately, Cecilia did it for her. With a wry, agonized smile, her mother confirmed, “We need to let him go. Both of us.”

For a moment Jo could neither breathe nor speak, a sudden crowding in her throat preventing it. When she finally pushed past it, she had to fight to get her words to form.

“M-Mom, no, you can’t -- I mean, Dad isn’t -- just, be careful with that!” she insisted, a hand lifting in a gesture of caution. But when she made to step closer, to take that precious urn into her own arms...Raphael’s grip tightened.

Shocked, she sent him a look of desperation.  _ What’re you doing? _ she thought, and she saw the answer in the set of his jaw, the pinch beside his eyes.

He agreed with her mother.

A sense of betrayal hit her. She murmured, “Did you know?”

He shook his head. “Not till now.”

“Jocelyn,” Laini called, bringing her attention back. “I want to...explain, if I may--”

“No,” was Jo’s firm reply. This was her  _ father _ they were talking about, even if all that remained was mere ash. She’d made great strides over the last year, sure, but she couldn’t just  _ let him go _ . Not yet.

She still...needed him.

Laini, she saw, had watery eyes and handkerchief clutched tightly in one fist. But even knowing her grandmother was so distressed wasn’t any help; if anything, it made Jo rally all the more.  _ See?! _ she wanted to scream at them.  _ I’m not ready, she’s not ready -- we’re not doing this! _

“I meant,” Laini went on more gently, “about how funerals are performed here--”

“There’s no funeral!” Jo snapped, anger rising in a desperate bid to drown out the hurt. “I mean there was, eleven years ago -- he doesn’t need another!”

“Jo...” Leila ventured, lifting a hand; Jo slapped it away.

Raphael brought his arms more securely around her. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said, dropping his chin.

It was most certainly  _ not _ okay.

Ignoring his comment (while remaining infinitely grateful for his presence and support), she caught her mother’s gaze, demanding, “Did you plan all this?!”

Cecilia didn’t need to answer. The sorrow on her face said enough.

Right then, a part of Jocelyn wanted to scream, cry, rage -- and just start swinging. The compression in her chest both incited these feelings and crippled her at the same time. In seconds she felt too weak to stand, tears starting to eke out as a battle started within her.

She wanted to fight, she wanted to scream, she wanted to go back in time to hug her father one last time, she wanted snatch that urn from her mother’s hands and run away with it -- an odd feeling, given she’d barely been able to  _ look _ at it over the last decade and had never touched it, yet here she was, desperate to hold it.

She’d do anything if it meant her father wouldn’t be taken away from her today.

Worse, all around her she could see her relations wore expressions of sorrow and hesitation and sympathy, and it just made her angrier. Every gaze she met skittered away from hers, and she could feel  _ pity _ in them. All of them.

That just increased her pain -- and, by extension, her rage. She snapped.

“What? Feeling  _ sorry _ for me, now?” she heard herself blurt at the group, even as a tiny sliver of herself tried to stop it.  _ What’re you doing, idiot?! _ that part yelled at her from somewhere far away.  _ This is your family, don’t ostracize yourself! _

But she couldn’t  _ stop _ it.

Then, to her absolute horror, Cecilia handed the urn to Laini, then crossed to her. Oddly, for all her gusto and impulses to fight, Jo found herself leaning  _ back, _ as if she could hide in her lover’s grasp.

Cecilia took her hands. Speaking low, she began, “We need to do this, love. Both of us. It’s not healthy to keep...clinging the way we’ve been. You know this -- remember, you’re the one who told  _ me _ to start dating again.”

“That’s different,” Jo told her, her words shaky. How odd that a moment ago she couldn’t tear her eyes off the urn, and now she couldn’t look away from her mother’s gaze. Almost as if she were looking for something in them...

Through the lump in her throat, she went on, “You can always find another lover. I can’t--” She cut herself off there, unable to say the words.

Cecilia understood, because she finished, “Find another father.”

Some strangled noise escaped Jocelyn, feeling as if a pustule of pain burst within her heart. And, almost as if he’d felt it, too, Raphael tightened his grip another degree, nuzzling into her hair.

It wasn’t as soothing as she would’ve liked.

“I’m not asking you to,” Cecilia went on, gentling further in a way only a mother could match. “You don’t need a replacement. Just think about it -- you and I, we’ve been stuck in the same place for eleven years. Isn’t it about time we...said goodbye?”

A part of Jocelyn was almost amused, hearing that speech; had her mother practiced it?  _ There’s that ‘lawyer’ again, _ she thought.

But the rest of her crumbled at those two final words.

_ Say goodbye, _ her mind echoed as sobs started breaking free. As if it were so easy.

“M-Mom,” Jo forced out, though she didn’t know what she was trying to ask for. Help? Chastisement? Revenge?  _ All and more. _

Cecilia cupped Jo’s face, her smile pained but genuine, as her own tears began to fall.

Alex chose then to speak up, saying, “Hawaiian funerals are a happy thing,  _ kūkā _ . We lay them to rest, then share memories. And I’m sorry, but that means you and your mother will have to do all the talking. We want to hear everything,” he told her, yet when she focused on him through her tears, she saw sorrow in him, too.

Jo couldn’t help taking stock then, looking around from face to face. The youngest children were confused but uncomfortable, silent as they read the emotions of those around them, but everyone else was...sad. Alana, Naomi, Leila, Kelly, Hyeon, Lasalo...even Tau, her great-grandfather, was displaying  anguish. Malia, she saw, was especially unstable, tears threatening as she clutched her wife’s hand.

Catching on to Jo’s shift in awareness, Cecilia finished simply, “We need to let go...so they can have a piece of him, too.”

At that moment, Jo could  _ feel _ her tears more acutely than before -- the hot droplets rolling down her cheeks, the sting in her eyes, the warped vision through the film coating them. She sniffed deep and hard, then -- shuddering incessantly -- she fought through her pain and crowded throat to brokenly answer, “Okay.”

No, it wasn’t okay -- not really -- but it  _ was _ the only way to proceed from here. She wasn’t really ready to move on, but she also recognized that she’d  _ never _ be ready for that. None of this was fair, she thought. Laini and Alex losing their child, Cecilia losing her husband, Jocelyn losing her father...it was all fucked up.

But, she admitted with difficulty, Julian wouldn’t want her to remain suspended in time, unable to move on from the memory of him. He would never tell her to be strong and keep her chin up, would never push her to forget -- he would, however, tell her to let go...so she could start looking back with smiles instead of tears.

Her father was still a large, deeply-ingrained part of her, and that would have to be enough.

“Okay,” she repeated.

Jocelyn was  _ not _ okay.

The group moved down to the beach for this ceremony, and in turn, everyone took a handful of ash and tossed it to the wind (except the kids, who were uncomfortable with the idea at best). Laini sang the whole while, through tears and clutching her chest, Alex keeping an arm around her as she did so.

She had been the first to throw the ashes. Alex had been the second, and Cecilia the third.

Then it came Jocelyn’s turn to reach into the urn, and Raphael leaned down and murmured, “I got you,” to her as Cecilia offered it.

And she realized then that she needed the opposite from him.  _ No going sideways, _ she told herself, stepping away from him. She felt the surprise in him when she let go of his hand, but he didn’t move or speak. He understood. She could -- no, she  _ had _ to do this. For her father, for herself, she needed to say goodbye on her own.

It was shockingly difficult. Reaching into that urn, feeling smooth ash and recognizing it both as her father and not, retrieving a fistful of it and, for a moment, being unable to look away from the grey compound.  _ It’s just ash, _ a part of her tried to reason.

_ It’s Dad, _ she shot back.

A sudden, almost amused impulse made her want to clutch the ash and run away with it, a bizarre thought that was ridiculous and stupid and disrespectful but somehow still managed to get a strangled laugh out of her. She felt hysterical -- maybe she was. She counted four fingers and a thumb on her own hand and a piece of her seized on  _ that _ instead of the ashes she cradled, a maniacal thought making her wonder if she really needed her pinky...

It was then that she recognized she would never fully recover. Her counting would always remain regardless of how many years would pass. Yet even as she thought it, she hoped -- hoped that, by making it through this and saying goodbye, it would bring her one step closer to ‘recovered’.

From somewhere far away, disconnected from herself, she heard her own voice choke out the words, “Goodbye, Dad.” Completely beyond her own control, she saw her hand lift, saw the ashes fling from her grasp.

A part of her wanted to scream in horror, to run out and start grasping at the flecks of white floating away in the wind.

Instead, she made herself step back, even as her gaze refused to leave the tiny cloud as it disappeared. Someone put something wet -- a cloth, she thought -- in her hand, and she absently rubbed it between her palms.

Laini’s song hitched for a second, then continued.

[ _ Aloha `oe, aloha `oe _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RrhAuEeyCao)

[ _ E ke onaona noho i ka lipo _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RrhAuEeyCao)

[ _ One fond embrace, _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RrhAuEeyCao)

[ _ A ho`i a`e au _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RrhAuEeyCao)

[ _ Until we meet again  _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RrhAuEeyCao)

Somehow Jocelyn found the strength to look away some time after the remainder had vanished, turning her gaze to watch the urn as it was moved through the family. Cecilia held it the entire time, and Jo could see her mother’s knuckles paling from the strong grip.

This was just as hard on Cecilia as it’d been on Jocelyn -- if not harder.  _ She _ wasn’t the one carrying the urn from person to person, watching them retrieve handfuls of her husband’s ashes and release them into the air. She could only imagine her mother’s distress right now, and yet Cecilia remained poised. Losing a tear every few seconds, yes, but her back was straight and her chin never dipped.

Jo doubted she’d have the strength to do the same, if their roles had been swapped.

Seeming to read her mind, Raphael leaned down then, taking her hand as he murmured, “You’re beautiful.”

It pulled a tiny smile out of her. She knew he didn’t mean her tear-stained face or quivering chin -- he meant her actions. He was proud of her. To him, her beauty was far more than just her appearance or grace. It was also her heart.

She wouldn’t have thought that the act of relinquishing a loved one to memory could be taken as beautiful, but then, she’d always loved Raphael’s perspective.

“Yeah?” she returned quietly. “So’re you.”

He huffed.

She grinned.

By the time the ceremony was over, there wasn’t a dry eye left on anyone. Even little Lulu, completely lost as to what they were doing and why, had joined the tear-fest. And yet, according to tradition, this was where the crying ended. They moved back to the house, got all the dishes served, and sat down together in the back yard.

That was where things got arguably harder. Cecilia and Jocelyn were to tell stories. Happy things, amusing things, surprising things -- memories of Julian to share so everyone else had a piece of him to hold.

“He had the  _ worst _ sense of humor.”

“Six jokes. I’m not kidding. Just the six.”

“He was a personal trainer. I think his max bench-press was four-twenty five.”

“He was the cook. Went down to the grocery store two or three times a week for fresh produce.”

“One time he was late coming home by two hours cause he picked up a homeless woman to take her to the best shelter in town.”

“He always thought he was Brazilian, funny enough.”

“He collected twist-ties. There’s still a drawer full of them at home.”

“He always came to my recitals. Mom couldn’t always make it cause of work, but Dad had more freedom with his hours.”

“Once I told him I wanted a dog, but our apartment doesn’t allow pets, so instead he took me to a dog park and let me play there for a while.”

“His favorite joke was to put something on his head and say, ‘You can also wear it as a hat!’“

“His favorite color was sky blue. He said it was so pure and beautiful nothing else could match it.”

“He got me off cocaine, then helped me learn to manage my Diabetes.”

“He may have been a body-builder, but his strongest muscle was his heart by far.”

This and more -- much, much more -- was shared over the course of the night. Jo had to pause a dozen times to fight off new tears, reminding herself that she couldn’t just keep crying all the time, but she refused to stop. Plus the stories had the benefit of reminding her of a lot of little things, like the way he organized his movies and the fact that he hated tying his shoes so he tended to buy velcro or zipper shoes instead.

His clothes had been in every color; he was the type of guy who said “real men wear pink” with an ironic wink because he didn’t believe there was such a thing as a “real” man. His taste in music could be best described as “well, why not?” and he’d been the worst dancer. His favorite pastime was making others laugh, even if that meant making a fool of himself to do it.

He had no fear, no shame, no inhibitions; nothing had been a taboo subject, he’d been perpetually at ease, and he forgave easy. Thinking of this, Jo realized just how much she’d taken after him. Maybe she wasn’t so quick to forgive, but the rest? If the shoe fit...

The night didn’t end. Soon the kids were nodding off and were put to bed, but other than Malae (Laini’s mother) turning in, everyone else remained. Every so often someone would interrupt a story and point to someone else, some realization or connection found, and it might have been Jo’s favorite result of this.

When her grandfather’s parents pointed at one another as Cecilia mentioned how Julian had once smashed open four fire extinguisher cases to distribute them during a fire alarm in the apartment building, Jocelyn got the impression one -- or both -- of them had done the same at some point.

Her father’s elbow had needed stitches from the damage, but he’d been proud of the scars he’d received. According to the fire department, his actions had been reckless...but had likely saved the lives of nearly a dozen people as others fought the flames to get them out of their homes. It’d been a terrifying sequence for mother and daughter, waiting outside on the street with no idea when or if Julian would come out of the building, but once they learned his reasoning for staying behind -- and the results of it -- he’d become a hero.

When Jocelyn mentioned this, she swear she saw  _ Raphael _ tearing up.

_ Soft-shell, _ she thought, sending a smile his way.

He looked away with an aggravated chuff.

Pride filled her. That adorable, big-hearted, easily-flustered brute was all hers, and she loved him with everything in her. 

He and her father would’ve loved each other.

As it began to dawn, the sky brightening, the adults finally turned in. The stories had been emotionally draining but so rewarding at the same time, leaving Jocelyn exhausted yet strangely energetic. Her first decision was to stay up with Raphael, to lean on him while her emotional state reset, but one look at her mother changed her mind.

Cecilia was off-balance, she saw. Her mother would need her. So instead, she kissed her lover good night and retired back to the spare room. Cecilia cried for a while in that bed, hugging the now-empty urn that had once been her father’s resting place, until Jocelyn took it away and put it aside.

Then, finally, the pair drifted off.

* * *

 

After everything that had happened, saying goodbye was excruciating.  _ Everyone _ came with Jo and her mother to the airport, filling up  _ six _ vehicles with bodies. She had no idea how Raphael transported himself, but she hadn’t seen him before they left so she assumed he went ahead -- on foot. Between islands.

Freaking ninja.

Alana and her family were departing shortly after the Delaghy’s flight so they were going to be here anyway, but everyone else? Jo was surprised -- and deeply touched -- to find all four of her aunts, their families, and her three great-grandparents were here to see them off...even if Malae kept referring to Jocelyn as ‘Kanake’, her sister.

Laini had explained that her aunt, Kanake, had been a blonde, too. She’d died as a teenager during a diving stunt in the ocean. Her body hadn’t been recovered. Hearing that had pained Jo, enough so that she gave the elderly woman a tight hug. Malae had spoken in Hawaiian, and Laini translated, “She said it’s nice to see you again. And goodbye.”

_ Ugh, _ that was painful -- yet...hopeful. With a bit of luck, Malae might just let go of her poor sister.

How strange to think that Jo’s family helped her move on from her father’s memory, and now she might have helped her great-grandmother do the same with her sister.

The send-off was loud and  _ very _ active. Two-dozen individuals milled around, taking up space and attention, talking over one another as they said their farewells. Tataio was the only one with a dry eye, face pinched as he silently glowered, and it made Jo want to tease him.

Leaning down before him, she commented, “Aww, gonna miss me that much?”

He stuck his tongue out and promptly turned his back, crossing his arms.

Recognizing that action -- she couldn’t count how many times she’d seen Ben do that -- she grabbed him, giving him a tight hug and a big kiss on the cheek as he struggled and flailed and fought her off. Now blushing hard, he ducked behind Enele, his father, and glared at Jocelyn.

Chuckles went through the group.

Lulu the was the least stable one, Jo found. She kept looking around, trying to spot Raphael, and was growing steadily more upset by the minute. Soon enough she was bawling, calling for “Rafal” and demanding her “turtle friend” show himself.

Knowing he was nowhere in earshot, Jo said, “I’m sorry, sweetie. He had to go back home. But you’ll see him again.”

The toddler quieted a little, but only enough to demand, “Promise! Jo promises us!”

“Jo promises,” Jocelyn agreed.

Lulu snuffled, still deeply frowning, relenting,” ...’Kay. Jo promises, so it’s okay. When we’ll see Rafal again?” she checked, giving Jo a sideways look.

Without thought, Jo answered firmly, “On Christmas.”

Because  _ she _ was coming back for Christmas and she knew Raphael wasn’t letting her go alone.

Mollified, Lulu nodded. “‘Kay. We’ll tell Santa.”

Naomi picked up her daughter, chiding, “Baby, Santa doesn’t deliver  _ people _ . Raphael will come on his own.”

“Oh.”

Jo chuckled, watching that, even as an ache took up root in her chest. Unbidden, a thought crossed her mind:  _ That’ll never be me. _

Shaking herself, she let the feeling go, all but banishing it. They had to finish their goodbyes, after all. And they’d just hit the hardest part: Laini and Alex.

Laini was already in tears and Alex was looking less stoic than usual. Without hesitation, Jo stepped right into their arms, clinging. Cecilia joined them a second later when Alex waved her in, and soon all four were sobbing in between heartfelt farewells and promises of when and how they’d meet again.

It wasn’t until they were on the plane, seated, that Jo realized they hadn’t packed Julian’s urn. And yet...bizarrely...that didn’t distress her at all.

Her grandparents could hold onto it for them for now. 


End file.
